Going Through
by Brenn.K
Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time.
1. Chapter 1

Going through…

Going through…

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time.

Warnings (or advertisements - as the case may be): A bit slashy.

**Going through …**

Remus Lupin would have never forgiven himself, had he lived through the events at the Ministry of Magic, for the singular moment of weakness that had stolen away his last living link to his chosen family.

In one moment, he had been tightly clutching Harry's shoulders, keeping the frantic child from rushing after his godfather as Sirius fell backwards, and in the next he was gripping empty air – though he was certain that Harry had not actually apparated out of his grip. He hadn't felt Harry's frail shoulders pull from his grip, and it seemed impossible that Harry would have had the power to free himself after the extended battle through the corridors, but it must have happened, nevertheless.

Sirius's startled form had barely disappeared through the veil when Harry rushed forward slipping Remus's fingers as if they were as insubstantial as Nearly-Headless-Nick's. Harry was bent low as he slipped under Remus's attempt to grab him a second time. His hands out-stretched as if he could reach through the veil and pull his godfather back, were first to be swallowed by the veil.

Distracted by their individual skirmishes, or too far away to intercept Harry's headlong rush through the veil, if they were even aware of it, many of the other order-members only finally turned to watch on, numb with horror, when Bellatrix Lestrange's malicious laughter spiked in pitch and venom. Her shrill piercing notes cut through the cacophony of their individual fights breaking their concentration between frantically cast hexes as surely as a soundly cast silencing spell, turning death eater and order member alike into a captive audience as she cast a spell that glowed wickedly green as it raced toward the rapidly disappearing youth to strike the boy's leg just at the point where Remus's hand had closed around his lower calf in a desperate effort to prevent Harry's fall.

His grip broken by the killing curse, Remus had hardly the time to drop the barely ten inch distance to the floor before Harry's body disappeared entirely.

Harry had just reached the dias, his lungs searing with breathless gasps, as he reached toward the veil. _ Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear through the other side any second… But Sirius did not reappear. "Sirius," Harry yelled, "Sirius"… Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out again._

Remus had grabbed him around the lower calf of his right leg, trying to hold him back, but he squirmed and struggled hard, thrusting his hands and forearms through the archway even as he heard horrible witch's laughter strangely silencing the angry cries of battle. A wave of dizziness swam through him as he clearly heard in the silence, her next spell, and he quickly shut his eyes to avoid seeing the spell charging toward him – as he knew it must be. He had been their target, after all, and now with the prophecy destroyed, they had no reason to hold back.

Sure enough, he felt the spell strike with a sickening surge of cold that moved up from his leg toward his heart … from his leg… where Remus had been holding … Nooooo!!

Noooo! Not Remus, too!

His howl of anguish strangled in his chest as the surge of cold rising from his legs intermingled with a nauseatingly sharp chill that numbed him backwards from his fingertips to his throat. It was all too much to withstand, and Harry felt himself falling into blackness… a single desire trapped in his freezing heart – to be with the only people in his life who would have done anything to protect him.

The all consuming darkness felt like it must have lasted forever, but might have only lasted three breaths before he found the strength to moan and flutter his eyes. The freezing feeling had settled into his left side, accompanied by a strange, foul smelling dampness.

"Oh, Dear Merlin, look!" A young woman's familiar voice broke through the hazy numbness that was seeping from his mind like mud through a stocking.

"Lily, get back." A harsher, worried voice warned.

It didn't sound like his memory of his father's voice from the grave yard, so he tried the only other person he'd expected to hear.

"S—r-us". He mumbled on a fragile breath, calling for his godfather.

"Severus? Do you know him?" the young woman's voice rose with a surprised note.

Harry's eyes fluttered opened bolstered by his surprise - startling the familiar, lanky, dark-haired teen, who was crouched and kneeling over him. The teen looked almost exactly like the greasy-haired fifth-year that he had viewed in Professor Snape's pensieve – except this teen was dressed entirely in muggle garb as was the also familiar red-haired witch leaning over the teen's shoulder.

"Unhhhhh," he groaned softly wondering whether he was hallucinating… or had Professor Snape died at the ministry, too?

"What's wrong with him? He looks as if he's been beaten up." The younger Lily Potter questioned with concern.

"That… and…" Young Snape's tone dropped into a hushed tone, "Cursed. Lily, the scar on his forehead, and those inflamed areas across on his face and cheeks… they're curse scars, I'm sure of it. I think I recognize the patterns of the fresher ones, on his cheeks, but I don't think I've seen a curse that leaves a pattern like the mark on his forehead."

"You think it's … them. Don't you?"

"Voldemort's lackies? There is no way of knowing until we…

"Here in Surrey? It can't be."

The teen was silent for a moment, staring deeply into his close friend's eyes, before he caught her hand, and commented sadly, "I told you things were getting more dangerous, Lily."

"But, here in Surrey? Why would they come here?"

"We don't have time to discuss this now. We've got to get him out of here."

"Can we get him to St. Mungo's?" Lily asked with concern, "If we can't what do we do then? Can a regular hospital cure curse injuries, or would we have to bring him home and alert the ministry? I don't know if I can… I mean, I'd bring him back to my house, if I would, but Tuney's invited her beau, Vernon, over and said that some of their other friends would be there, too."

"I… don't know think a muggle hospital would be ideal, but St. Mungo's … I don't know if we should take him to St. Mungo's, yet when we really have no idea who may have done this to him. Besides, I haven't quite figured out how to set a portkey for a warded perimeter, and neither of us have learned how to apparate yet."

"But we have to do something? How bad is he?"

"I can't say for certain, Lily, but his pupils look like he might have a concussion. The fresh curse burns on his cheeks and forehead … they're not as serious as I would expect them to be if they are from the curse I believe them to be, but they'll probably scar. He or someone must have used a strong shield to protect him, but as for what other injuries he might have, there's no way to tell at the moment…"

"Healing spells are tricky, though, particularly if he's a muggle. Is he… do you think he's a wizard?"

"I don't know, possibly. He appears to be close to our age, though, and I don't believe that I have seen him at Hogwarts."

"No, he's not in Gryffindor, but a Hufflepuff, maybe? I haven't kept track of the third and fourth year puffs because they don't come to tutoring as much."

Harry listened with amused detachment until he tried to move his hand and his nerves suddenly felt as if they were wired in directly to an electric socket that had just been switched on.

"Aaeeeeeeeeeeinnnnnnhhhh," he groaned through gritted teeth.

"Oh, Severus, what do we do?"

"I'll take him to my home. My mother knows several … adequate… healing charms and potions… and she can apparate him to St. Mungo's if he need's more."

"But, what if your father's there?" Her eyes flashed with concern as she questioned him.

"We don't have a wide variety of options, Lily. We don't even know whether he's a muggle or not…."

"Alo--ho--mora" Harry interrupted, gasping with pain and desperate for the help they innocently taunting him with as they discussed their options.

"I guess that answer's that question." Lily commented with a weak chuckle.

"Indeed."

"Can I stop by tomorrow, uhm, to see how he's doing?"

"Of course, but owl first, so I can warn you off if my father's around."

"Lily, we shouldn't stay here any longer than is necessary. Can you make your way home from here?"

"Of course, I can." Lily replied with typical gryffindorish zeal, smirking when her friend arched his eyebrow and repeated the question, adding "safely?"

"Severus," she sighed, moving back to the opening of the alley that they had been drawn into when they had heard the injured teen's groan from the street. After looking back the way they'd come from, she commented tartly, "We're already seven blocks away from the park; I have my wand; and whoever dumped him here obviously didn't want his assault tied back to them... so they're not likely to have hung around are they."

"Very well, but hurry out to the main street before I go, so I can watch you at least as far as Kensington." Severus knelt by the stranger again, pulling a port key from the inside of his left sleeve, preparing to leave as soon as she was a relatively safe distance into her route home, but looked up with a startled glance as she laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek.

"?"

"Thanks for worrying; it's sweet." She commented by way of explanation before hurrying out to the street.

Waiting for her to disappear down the street, Severus nervously glanced back and forth between her and his charge until Lily was close enough to her home to get there before anything untoward could happen then pressed the safety pin flat against the other teen's chest and murmured "asodophol".

Rising to his feet, anxiously, barely a moment after he and his charge arrived in his bedroom at Spinner's End, Severus was hesitant about leaving the other simply lying on the floor, but knew enough of treating injuries to be away that lifting the wizard, even with a careful _leviosa_ could exacerbate any internal injuries that the wizard, if that was an accurate designation for the other teen, might have. He was hardly convinced that the other young man was, in fact, a wizard – based simply on the fact that the young man recognized a single spell, particularly when it was clear from the curse scars that his charge had been in some form of contact with wizards to begin with. As Lily had pointed out, Surrey was hardly a place that drew attention from the wizarding community. In fact it was so pedestrian and unthreateningly muggle, that even the few acquaintances that he had whose families that followed Voldemort had no interest in it as a sight to stir up trouble. London was far more metropolitan and interesting to them as a location where muggles regularly interacted, even if unknowingly, with witches and wizards. Surrey, by comparison, without even a decent apothecary shop to attract muggle homeopaths, much less potion-minded witches and wizards, had nothing to offer even as a target.

Still, Lily's point that the teen's assailant's had clearly wanted to distance themselves from their attack had merit, and spoke to the possibility that the teen was a wizard. The last place anyone would be likely to look for a missing wizard was Surrey.

"I will return, momentarily," he commented by way of explanation as he stood to go for his mother – only to break his stride when other teen's eyes fluttered open and froze Severus with a gaze that glowed an almost incandescent shade of brilliant green almost identical to the shade of Lily's eyes but alive with a depth of pain that Severus doubted his sheltered and cherished friend could ever understand. As dearly as he loved her, Severus had always hesitated to truly discuss his home life because he had feared that she would never be able to cope with the meaningless suffering that he endured to protect his mother or understand the darker side of his nature that his background had engendered. The resigned alienation and deep-seated exhaustion that he saw in the boy's wounded gaze, made him feel, for the first time in his memory, as if he was looking into the eyes of someone who could truly understand him in his entirety, and the feeling was almost hypnotizing.

Compelled by an unusual feeling of compassion, Severus slowly reached out, hovering his hand above the teens eyes as he gently admonished, "Rest. I'll get my mother. She can help."

Hoping that the other could take some measure of ease from his gaze, Severus, in an unusually open gesture, for him, locked eyes for a moment then slowly lowered his hand to close the other boy's eyes.

As Snape's cool palm gently descended over his eyelids, lightly pressing his eyes closed, Harry breathed a tight sigh of relief at the gesture. He still wasn't completely certain whether he was hallucinating. Between one moment and the next, Harry tried to reconcile the nausea, almost agonizing pain, and the almost insurmountable feeling of loss with the sheer impossibility of his being returned to a past before he was even born, into the care of a previously bitter seeming wizard who was treating him with almost surreal kindness. It seemed impossible, but whether it was a hallucination or not, it was the only reality he could perceive, and he had to plan for the eventuality that, if it was a reality in any sort of manner, they would question him as soon as he they believed he was well enough to answer their queries.

… And the questions they were likely to ask, were definitely ones that he couldn't give a satisfactory answer to.

"Who was he?"

What a barrel of blast-ended skrewts that would open up. Oh, yes.

"Hello there, I'm Harry Potter, the as yet un-born son of your hated rival, who will banish thwart Voldemort for over a dozen years, after being responsible for the death of the only person, whom you consider a friend."

Harry could just imagine how well that would go over. If they didn't believe him, he'd probably end up in St. Mungo's, and if they did, he'd probably be hexed almost to death before the words were even completely out of his mouth. Well, he obviously couldn't tell them the truth, but he had absolutely no talent at lying… (especially to Professor Snape, though even Dobby saw through his diversions). But, what was there left?


	2. Chapter 2

Going through…

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time.

Warnings (or advertisements) as the case may be: A bit slashy.

"_What's wrong with him? He looks as if he's been beaten up." The younger _

_Lily Evans questioned with concern._

"_That… and…" Young Snape's tone dropped into a hushed tone,_

"_Cursed. Lily, the scar on his forehead, and those inflamed areas_

_across on his face and cheeks… they're curse scars, I'm sure of it._

_I think I recognize the patterns of the fresher ones, on his cheeks,_

_but I don't think I've seen a curse that leaves a pattern like_

_the mark on his forehead."_

**Going through , part 2…**

Harry alternated between biting his lip between his teeth and holding his breath to keep from screaming as his pain intensified with every breath. As he thrashed violently, he almost threw himself off the bed until a set of chill hands caught his shoulders and pressed him as carefully as possible back into the bed.

"Mother, he wasn't like this when I left him. He was in severe pain, but nothing like this." Severus swore as he stared down at the young man panting and writhing under his hands.

"Hold him, Severus. Hold him down. I can not say what ails the by, yet, but this thrashing only worsens it."

"He has curse scars, I think."

"Yes. I can see that, but what curses? Severus… may I use your wand?"

"Where's yours? I'll get it."

"No, Severus. Just loan me yours for a time."

"Where is your wand, Mother?" Severus asked suspiciously, distracted by his mother's evasiveness from their guest.

"Do you wish the child healed?"

"Of course, I do; that's why you should be using your wand not mine. Healing spells are too complicated enough without a borrowed wand."

"Severus!"

"Mother."

They stared at each other tensely – refusing to comply with the other's barely disguised demands, until the boy jerked violently beneath Severus's hold and groaned loudly.

"Severus… foolish boy, give me your wand… unless making a point is that much more important than relieving his suffering?"

Scowling as he released the boy with one hand, Severus jerked his wand out of his sleeve and practically shoved it at her, but not without a parting comment, "You should make a habit of keeping your wand on you… for protection."

It went unsaid that he meant from his own father, but their guest was proof enough that there were sufficiently compelling dangers in the world even outside their home, so she let the issue drop with a nod. It would do nothing but cause trouble to tell her son that his father had broken her wand earlier that year while he was at school.

Channeling her magic to cast the most thorough diagnostic spell that she could remember, Eileen Snape was startled by how fluidly her magic moved through his wand… as if it somehow recognized her as the source of her son's life and magic and welcomed her influence over it, far better than even her own had.

Pouring smoothly from her core through the compliant wand, Eileen barely needed to localize and direct the diagnostic spell which flew to the stricken boy in a gleaming ice blue aura that surrounded him and rapidly discolored with splotches of crimson, rust, puce, and four disturbingly large patches of sickly green – one centered over the scar in his forehead, two others (concentrated in his fingertips and running up each arm one to his elbow the other only two his wrist), and the last in an irregular pattern over his lower calf. As the aura developed, it continued to discolor and discolor for a full fifteen breaths before it finally solidified into a mottled mimicry of the boy's body, which she froze and captured with twelve slices of her son's wand.

Lifting the image away from the boy with a flick of her son's wand, Eileen turned to find her son staring at the mottled image in horror.

"Severus!" she snapped, breaking his attention, "Take a jar, quickly. Run down to the river and gather as many leeches as you can find. The larger, the better, but don't throw any of them away. Bring them back as quickly as possible. Hurry now."

Her son shook his head abruptly, seeming to need a physical jarring to break away from the image, before he stared at her with a doubtful, questioning glance that evaporated into urgency as he read the sober determination in her eyes. Without pausing to question her, Severus rushed from the room and down the stairs with a drumbeat of quick footsteps, which was followed almost immediately by a clatter of pots and dishes being thrown around in the kitchen below.

Disregarding her son's departure as the kitchen door slammed, Eileen turned back to the boy and petrified him as gently as possible. Unlike her son, Eileen no longer had the strength to fight the boy's thrashing, and it was safer for him, physically, to force his stillness than it was to allow him to exacerbate them in his attempts to pull away from his inescapable pain. Closing her eyes to draw more magic up into her son's wand, Eileen murmured a string of protection and comfort spells to give him what relief she could. Almost as soon as she thought the spells should be starting to take effect, the boy gurgled and seemed to stiffen – moaning softly.

"Be still," She quietly commanded the stranger that her son had dragged in from an alley, like so many of the stray and injured casts that he had brought home as a child... until her husband, Tobias had finally brought home to her son the lesson that he, she, and the stray would, all, suffer for his compassion.

Despite the fact that the teen was as much of a stray as any of the fragile or broken creatures that Severus had taken pity on, having been dumped and, no doubt, left for dead in the – Eileen found it difficult not to feel sorry for the scarred and injured boy who seemed hardly older than her own son.

"Be still." she ordered again.

After a brief hesitation, when the teen continued to tremble and twitch in pain she leaned forward and awkwardly patted his hand twice, lightly chastising: "Shhhh. Be at ease. Severus should return soon."

Almost as if her words had summoned her son, too early, The front door slammed with a jarring rattle that caused her breath to catch in her throat.

"Woman!"

_Tobias! _

"Where are you?" her husband's angry voice carried through the house as he could be heard stomping from room to room below.

Eileen sat frozen, torn between her fear of facing her husband when he was clearly irate, and her fear at being caught – complicit with Severus – in attempting to aid another "misbegotten stray."

"Blasted Woman, you'll answer me if you know what's good for you!"

After a moment, of choked of silence, she gasped when his heavy footfalls were echoed by the stair.


	3. Chapter 3

Going through…

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time.

Warnings (or advertisements) as the case may be: A bit slashy.

"_Be still," Eileen quietly commanded the stranger that her son _

_had dragged in from an alley, like so many of the stray and injured cats _

_that he had brought home as a child... until her husband, _

_Tobias had finally brought home to her son the lesson that _

_he, she, and the stray would, all, suffer for his compassion. _

_Despite the fact that the teen was as much of a stray _

_as any of the fragile or broken creatures that Severus had taken pity on -_

_having been dumped and, no doubt, left for dead in the alley – _

_Eileen found it difficult not to feel sorry for the scarred and injured boy_

_who seemed hardly older than her own son._

**Going Through, Part 3. **

Severus studied the metal bowl for several seconds to be certain that the leeches he had already gathered would not cross the coating of bitterroot, which he had thumbed around the rim. It worked at school to keep the flobberworms in their cold stoneware bowls -without the stunning spell commonly used by other, less inventive students... even though they knew or should have known that doing so diminished the flobberworm's efficacy as a potion ingredient by as much as three fifths.

Of course, they would have known it if they had ever thought, or bothered, to check out the effects in the _Apothecary Attendant's Compendium of Ingredient Interactions_, but from the fair condition of the ancient text, it seemed unlikely that anyone, other than he and Lily, had even touched the manual in a generation or more. Most likely, Gryffindors were too dense to realize that it had any application to potions if it didn't have the word Potions in the title. Ravenclaws were too inclined to ignore it because it lacked a sophisticated or theoretical title while Hufflepuffs would probably shudder just at the thought of reading anything that contradicted their text. Even the Slytherins, mostly ambition-driven purebloods, would have been unlikely to defer to a text directed toward a lowly attendant rather than a potion master, so it was entirely possible that no one but he and Lily had even bothered to touch the dusty tome in several decades. Pulling himself back from his musings as it became apparent that the bitterroot gel was effectively containing the leeches, Severus turned his attention back to the sludgy canal bank, searching for another large stone.

He'd been lucky with the first one, finding five larger specimens clinging to its sides and edges, but most potions that used flobberworms regularly took at least three or four thumb-length worms, and leeches had so many fewer apothetic qualities that Severus was certain his mother would need at least ten to fifteen more thumb-size or longer worms to equate. Moving from muddy stone to muddy stone, Severus methodically flipped them over, peeled what slimy specimens he could find off the craggy flint stones, and dragged his fingers through the mud to be certain that he didn't miss any. It was a slow, and frustrating task, for even after nineteen more stones, he had only gathered seven more leeches and all barely the size of his thumbpad- not even one as long as his first joint.

It was taking to long, with too little result to continue, he finally decided after flipping over his fifth barren stone in a row. Slapping what mud he could off his knees and pant legs as he stood up, Severus picked up the bowl of leeches and started back. Periodically, though, as he hurried back, he would quickly toe over a random stone, just to be certain that he had not missed any on the way. Because of this, and because he was watching the grounds so closely as he walked, Severus missed seeing his father stagger up the walk, almost tripping on the steps as he clutched the hand rail to keep steady as he unlocked the front door then stumbled inside.

* * *

Had he been aware of his father's approach, Severus would have, without a doubt covered the distance between the canal and Spinner's End at a run, instead of crouching down to check one last stone before slogging up the bank. It was only when he was close enough to see that the front door had been left open that Severus's chest tightened with alarm. He nearly dropped the bowl he'd spent so much time gathering when he jerked out of his shook to run the last three dozen meters and take the steps three at a time before barging through into the parlor.

"Woman! You let me through this door right now." His father's angry demand rang out from the floor above him, causing Severus's heart to stop for half a beat before it began to pound even louder, drowning out the sounds of his breath in his ears. Catching his breath in a quick gulp, Severus grabbed the hand rail and dragged himself forward with as much strength as he could, trying to speed his already panicked run up the stairway. But, as quickly as he moved, it was not fast enough to beat the sound of his father breaking through the door.

"What's he doing in here?" His father's roar became almost indiscernible, either from the drink, or from anger as he continued to revile his with, so loudly that it even drown out the sound of Severus's hammering footsteps up the stair.

"Warned that boy what I'd do with the next bit of trash he dragged in? Warned him I did, an you still go and let him bring in that scrote. Think I don't mean business, Woman? Shoulda learned better shouldna ya? But, I'll show you this time. Won't be makin mistakes like this again...Make sure of that."

The crack of a fleshy, back-handed slap, and the thud of his mother hitting the wall with a resounding slam came through so recognizably that Severus tripped on the stair in shock, causing him to slam his knees on the stair's edges and slide down several feet before he caught and righted himself.

"You'll learn sense... if it kills ya!" His father's angry threat was accompanied by a second loud crack of flesh that had Severus choking in anger as he pushed himself on his feet again.

_Why wasn't his mother defending herself? She had his wand._ Severus's thoughts demanded as he rushed forward. _Why didn't she ever defend herself? Why didn't she ever... _Before he could finish his last thought, Severus was standing in the doorway of his room, staring at his mother in horror.

When she had fallen beneath her husband's last slap, her long skirts had been thrown high enough to expose dark sallowed skin on her shins and calves left by aged bruises from his father must have kicked her. As if his father had decide to confirm the Severus's suspicion, Tobias was standing over her, holding onto the wall unsteadily as he drew a foot back to kick her in the side that wasn't protected as she curled away from him.

Severus threw himself through the door tackling his father, but he had been so enraged by the sight of his father standing over her ready to hurt her – again - that he hadn't considered how close his father was to the wall, and quickly found himself on his knees shaking his head with the shock of a blow from the wall as well as the impact of his father's luckily thrown elbow that caught him in the throat. Tobias was too well acquainted with bar-brawling not to take every advantage he had, even when he was stumbling drunk and the one on the bottom of the pile. Catching his son's long greasy hair in his fist, Tobias used it to slam his son's head into the wall a second and third time.

* * *

_The little prat... well if he thought he could sneak up and catch him from his behind... he had another thing coming. _

Tobias might not have had the strength he would have had sober, but he could tell from the way the brat was swaying back and forth, his blows had hurt_. _

_Damn fool of a boy to run into the wall anyway. The boy didn't have any sense, and it was just getting worse every year, with him going to that school. _

Dragging himself out from under his stunned son, Tobias looked his wife and boy over again.

_They weren't really his though... hadn't been in a long time. She'd never been able to change from what she was – a witch, no matter how much he'd tried to change her, and her spawn was just as bad if not worse. They could have been normal if they'd wanted to, but they were too stubborn and contrary to give him the kind of family he could have been proud to have. Well, he was right ready to wash his hands of them both, but before he did... he was going to make sure they'd learned their lesson. _

_A man deserved respect in his own house. He'd told them that time and time again... that he wouldn't have their ways but they'd never done as he'd asked and given up the strange business... and here they were dragging another one in as if he should be happy to have another burden on his back. Well, he'd told them about that too, and they'd learn what it meant to disrespect him in his own house. _

Backhanding his son, Tobias smirked at the accusation in his son's eyes, enjoying the pain he saw there.

_The boy deserved it. Just as much as he deserved to see his mother get hers. How was he to learn if he weren't to see the consequences. Eileen should have shown him that. A good mother would have gotten it through to him, but instead, it had been up to Tobias every time the boy went wrong or dragged some pathetic mutt or mangy creature in to be fed up, wasting Tobias's hard earned wages... and now, the boy had brought another wretch in for him to deal with. Well, this one wasn't any less mangy than the others he'd seen, and Tobias knew how to deal with manky strays. _

Aiming a vicious kick toward his son's thigh, Tobias surprised the boy by turning it at the last moment, when the brat had bent to protect his leg, and caught his son flat in the lower chest, knocking the boy's breath out of him. With his son laying flat on his back gasping for air, too stunned to interfere, and his wife knowing better than to get in his way, Tobias stalked over to the bed, grabbed up a pillow, and covered the wretch's face - smiling when the creature didn't even lift a hand to fight him.


	4. Chapter 4

Going through…

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time.

Warnings (or advertisements) as the case may be: A bit slashy.

"_Warned that boy what I'd do with the next bit of trash he dragged in? _

_Warned him I did, an you still go and let him bring in that scrote. _

_Think I don't mean business, Woman? Shoulda learned better shouldna ya? _

_But, I'll show you this time. Won't be makin mistakes like this again_

_...Make sure of that."_

**Going Through, Part 4.**

Rolling on his side until he could push himself up onto his hands and knees, Severus panted in pain, trying to ignore the shock and horror roiling through him as he watched his father attempting to suffocate the young man that he and Lily had discovered in the alley. His head swam, and the room swayed in his vision, but he had to stop his father. Gasping as a pain ripped through his chest when he pushed himself up until he could sit back on his heels, Severus turned and stared at his mother in shock.

He had assumed that she must have been knocked out... that would have been the only reason he could think of that she wouldn't at least levitate the pillow out of his father's hands. He held her gaze, silently pleading with her to act, but when she stayed immobile, he finally broke his silence to beg in a pained whisper, "Mother, my wand. Give me my wand."

Jerking her gaze away from his, she stared anxiously at her husband before turning back to him with a helpless look.

"Give me my wand!" he demanded more harshly, but still on a whisper.

Despite his whisper, though, it became almost instantly clear that Tobias had heard Severus when he dropped the pillow and spun around to stare at them with loathing.

"His wand? You have his wand? What did I tell you about that? What did I tell you I was going to do if I ever caught you with a wand, again?" Tobias demanded, accusation thick in his growl.

"Please, Tobias." Eileen murmured backing further into the wall. "Please, I needed to use it to check the child's injuries."

"Don't flap your mouth with your pathetic excuses." Tobias retorted as he shot a sharp nasty glare at his son before turning back to his wife, "Give me his wand."

"No, Tobias. He needs it."

"What did you just say to me?"

"Severus needs it. Please Tobias."

"Give me that wand, or it won't be the only thing I break."

Severus paled as the words settled in his mind, and he suddenly understood why his mother had refused to send him for her wand earlier. His father had broken it. ... Just like he wanted to break Severus's now, and leave Severus unable to defend himself, or his mother, or Lily from the dangers he knew were out there.

Severus could barely even conceive of what it would mean, what it would feel like to be without his wand and his magic, but what he felt at the mere thought of it was almost overwhelming.

"Mother...give it to me. Give me my wand, please." He begged tightly, reaching out to her.

"Woman!" Tobias warned with a growl as he came around the bed.

...

Eileen pushed unsteadily away from the wall, allowing herself to seem slightly weaker that than she actually felt, now that she could recognize that they had come to a point of resolution.

Casting a broadly apologetic glance toward her son, as she raised her hand in a petitioning... forestalling gesture toward her husband.

"I am truly sorry, Severus," she offered softly.

"No, Don't! Don't give it to him." Her son reproached her between gasps of pain. He swayed between positions, attempting to find the least painful position that would allow his to rise to from his knees – despite at least one rib that Eileen was almost certain had been broken by his father's vicious kick.

Watching as her husband's tense stance relaxed at her apology, she explained gently, even knowing that neither could truly understand her meaning, "I have no choice."

Eileen ignored the flare of denial that filled her son's eyes as she moved slowly between him and the bed... moving slowly closer to Tobias. So many regrets filled her thoughts as she put herself between her son and husband, but the chief and most lingering regret was that she had ever allowed herself to marry Tobias – in a muggle ceremony, taking muggle vows: vows, which bound her as tightly as an unbreakable oath – For better or for worse, richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to have and to hold, to honor, and to obey, forsaking all others for as long as they both should live.

At the time, of course, she had not recognized the vow for what it was, nor guessed that "forsaking all others" would include their own son, but as Eileen had warned years earlier, devastating consequences rarely required a perfect understanding. Quite often, it was the very lack of perfect understanding that guaranteed the harshest consequences.

Surreptitiously lowering her arm to let his wand slip from her sleeve into her palm, even as Tobias favored her son with a superior smirk, Eileen passed around the edge of the bed, just out of reach of her son's outstretched grasp.

"He was trying to kill..." Severus protested, throwing his hand urgently toward the nameless, unconscious teen, laying in his bed, whose face was still obscured by the pillow that Tobias had begun to smother him with.

"I know, Severus."

"It's murder!" Her son accused, trying to reach for the wall's support, just beyond his finger tips, so that he could drag himself to his feet.

"Yes." Eileen answered, more aware than he that the only possible outcome was murder.

"His ... blood will be on your hands, too. You can't let..."

"Severus." Eileen interrupted her son's horrified defense of the stranger with a pointed look. "I prefer his blood on my hands – to yours."

Taking her comments as compliance, if not outright sanction, Tobias – his face contorted with an expression of malicious glee – retrieved the pillow and paused to savor the stark horror, betrayal, and pain in her son's expression.

"You must have been off your trolley to think that you'd get away with banging a mangy little shite like this into my home. It's a good tonking this time, or worse, if you don't belt up."

Tobias snapped the pillow between his fists in a taunting gesture, then turned back to the unconscious boy and covered his face.

Trembling with fury and pain as he tried to rise, his arm clutched across his injured ribs, Severus held his Eileen's eyes with an imploring gaze – silently pleading with her to act as his injuries made themselves known. It was clear from his expression that he doubted he could overcome his father, but underlying his silent plea was a warning of his fierce determination to act, regardless of the consequences, if she did not. '_It will be both of our lives on your conscience, if you do this,'_ his eyes warned before they went dull with resignation.

Of course, she'd given him no reason to suspect that she would act, and much to her regret, her long history of inactivity in the face of her husband's vile abuse would have given him no reason to believe otherwise, but it pained her to see his open lack of faith. As much as it had pained her to increase her son's disillusionment, though, Eileen had needed the time to remember the proper wand movements accompanying the incantation that she had kept in the back of her thoughts since Auror Moody had taught her the incantation as well as a variety of diagnostic and healing spells, including the one she'd used earlier that afternoon.

Ten years earlier, when she had requested an Auror's assistance after finding herself trapped in an abusive marriage by her muggle vows, Eileen had initially balked at learning the spell, but the auror had insisted, telling her that it was a last resort she might need one day. It had gone entirely against her Slytherin instincts for self preservation to memorize and practice the incantation, but as time passed, her husband's increasing violence had convinced her of inevitability.

Pausing for the briefest moment to offer her son the only solace she could, Eileen intentionally allow her staunch detachment slip enough for her eyes to show the regret, sadness, guilt, and fondness that she felt for him. But misreading her response, Severus turned away, groaning softly as he forced himself the painful inches toward the wall and pushed against it for support.

Perhaps it was better, though, that he was turned away, she thought - letting his wand drop its full length into her fingertips. It was better that he saw as little of her deed as possible.

As if divining her intent to protect its master, his wand warmed rapidly in her touch – filling with the power she was drawing from her core and channeling it toward her son even as she swept the wand toward him, before the words could tumble from her lips.

"Protego Juvenalis." Her magic flowed through its ebony core without resistance.

"Via Viva Maternalia." The long unremembered feeling of power poured through the open channel between her core and the wand's – recalling to her mind once again what it had once felt like to be a witch.

Strengthened by the memory of the power and confidence that she had possessed in her youth, as her wand swept toward her husband, Eileen's voice rang out, "Carpe viva per viva."

"No!" Severus cried in horror, throwing himself around and wrenching his fractured ribs as he did.

"Mother, No!" his heartbroken cry coincided with her final incantation: "Morte per morte."

Torn apart by a pain beyond the agony of his injuries, Severus collapsed - even as the spell protecting him found completion, and the lifeless bodies of his parents joined his on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): A bit slashy.

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_Between one moment and the next, Harry tried to reconcile the nausea, _

_almost agonizing pain, and the almost insurmountable feeling of loss_

_ with the sheer impossibility of his being returned to a past before _

_he was even born, into the care of a previously bitter seeming wizard _

_who was treating him with almost surreal kindness._

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**Going Through**, **5**

"There is not much that I can tell you at this point," a soft but authoritative voice woke Severus from his pained slumber.

"Tell me what you can then," a gruffer voice ordered.

"While I cannot say with certainty why the Snapes chose not to register the birth of both sons, given the nature of the viva maternalia spell, their shared age, and other factors, I have no doubt that the two are, indeed, brothers."

"What other factors?" the gruff voice asked as the same question occurred to Severus.

"In addition to their dark features and pronounced bone structures, the diagnostic scans that I have cast report that they have, both, suffered from prolonged and repeated episodes of malnutrition, neglect, and abuse. Additionally, while scans of their magical core show that they are both half-bloods, an unusual enough state in the current times, the scans also show that they are singularly powerful young men, with the capacity - if trained - for advanced magics, ranging from wandless and wordless incanting to animagus and inanimagus transfiguration, possibly even spellcrafting."

"So the smaller lad's not a squib then?" the gruff voice questioned.

"No, although I can see your reasoning. Sadly, you are quite correct that -even in this day and time- it's not unknown for pure blood families to lock away their non-magic- capable children, but while several of his magical channels are not as well developed as I would like to see in a young man of his age- there is no reason that I can discern for them to have suspected that he was suffering from a core deficiency of that magnitude."

"An yer completely sure they're brothers then?"

One similarity, I might have been inclined to question, two even, but eight such unique factors? Add to this your mention that the ministry closely monitors all instances of even the legalized killing spells- including the viva maternalia - yet have no record - from the past two decades- detecting even a single other recent incantation of the maternalia spell that both boys carry the scar of... and the very nature of the spell she used, and... Well, let's just say that even if I had a paternity potion in front of me that said otherwise, if I were called to, I'd swear to their being brothers before the wizengamot... then find a new potion supplier in the morning."

"No question, then?"

"No, none at all."

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Severus listened with listless surprise to their unexpected conclusion. Even with the horrible injuries and curse scars he had seen, Severus was somehow strangely surprised at the numerous similarities the healer had ticked off- realizing that if he had been outside the situation, on the basis of the same evidence, he would have quite likely arrived at the same conclusion.

Thinking back on the kindered look that he had seen in the other boy's eyes before portkeying them back to spinner's end, he wondered whether he might be able to take advantage of the healer's misconception. With his parent's deaths, Severus was alone, and if he wasn't very much mistaken, the other was alone as well. Alone, in the wizarding world, meant unprotected, and unprotected was a very bad thing to be - especially if you were a halfblood or a muggleborn.

He'd have to get to the other before he could say anything, and persuade him to go along with the ruse, then come up with a logical that story that would cover any questions the healers and aurors might ask. And then there was Lily...

Lily had seen the other and had seen Severus's reaction. As much as Severus admired Lily, and cared for her opinion, he could not allow himself to forget one very crucial thing about Lily: she was a Gryffindor, from core to curls. As a result, she seemed incapable of truly grasping the value of misdirection and deceit, much less the value of misleading those in authority who, in their officiousness, righteousness, or pure arrogance, might condemn them to unrecoverable positions. He would have to lie to her- and make it convincing.

As Severus was trying to construct their cover story, Harry was listening numbly to the healer's discussion; though perhaps numb was not the most accurate description for what he was feeling. Overwhelmed with guilt and horror described his state far more accurately.

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His simple presence had, yet again been the catalyst for death and destruction: this time robbing Snape of his parents- punishing the man who had saved him time and time again for the grievous sin of once more trying to protect him.

Was this why the adult Snape had hated him? If so, Harry could not help but feel that it was justified. Finally, being honest with himself, he admitted that it would have been justified even without this. From his first year on, Harry had lied to the professor, broke nearly all of the school's (even the headmaster had admitted that), made horrible and unfounded accusations against the man. In third year, he had even attacked Snape, and the man's response - jumping in front of a werewolf to protect him.

His thoughts drawn back to Moony and Sirius, by the memory, Harry was submerged in a whole new source of guilt. Snape had clearly gotten the message through to the order, who had apparently freed Sirius before showing up in the hall of prophecy to save Harry and his friends... at the risk ... and in several cases ... the loss of their own lives.

"S--ru-sss," he gasped brokenly, the agony swelling in his heart outstripping mere physical pain he was feeling by uncountable degrees, "Re... mu... Ced... "

The names of those who had died because of him broke on his teeth and tongue- seeming, all, unwilling to be spoken by him, but demanding from him some expression of true grief and regret, which he gladly paid in choking sobs.

It was not enough, he knew, just as there was nothing he could say to apologize to Snape for everything he had done in the man's future, much less for costing the young man his parents.

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Sitting up, weakly, as he heard the other's gasps turn to sobs, Severus slowly and carefully pushed himself up from the bed he'd been placed in, forced away the malaise and weakness that made him sway, and pressed his feet to the floor below. In the periphery, he heard the healer tell the gruffer voice that he would be right back and that there were more potions that he wanted the smaller young man to take before he slipped back to sleep, but ignored it. The other man in the conversation would most likely be watching them, but had done nothing yet to stop him from rising, so Severus pushed forward.

He had to take the chance to speak with the other, before they could ask the wrong questions.

Hating the weakness that forced him to move so slowly, in such stumbling steps, Severus pushed himself as quickly as he could, grabbing the other's bedstand in relief when he reached it.

/_Merlin_/ he swore with a gasp but continued to drag himself along the bed's edge until he could drop his hip onto it and lean over other. The chair was too far away for him to be able to speak as quietly as he needed, and anyway, he wanted them to be convinced that the other was his brother. Certainly, he would be expected to offer close comfort to an injured, sobbing brother. There was still the chance that the gruff voiced man might use a listening spell, though, so he chose his words carefully.

"Shhh. Shhhh." Severus murmured softly. "I'm here. It's over. Little brother, it's over."

Even if they were supposed to be twins, there was no denying that the other was several inches shorter than him, so Severus felt safe in using the moniker.

"I'm here. You're safe. We'll survive this, too."

The other's arm's fell away, and his eyes fluttered open and stared at Severus with a glazed, bewildered and lost stare that Severus almost couldn't bear to meet for the overwhelming pain within. The incandescent green eyes studied him quietly seeming to recognize him from earlier, but not quite understand what he was saying.

"Shhh," Severus murmured again. "I'm here. You're safe."

Even if the other heard or understood nothing else, that one assurance might be something he'd cling to, so Severus repeated it softly, over and over as the other's sobs slowly abated. When the other quietly stared back at him, he repeated his assurance taking the chance to repeat the moniker once more, "Your safe, Little Brother. I'm here. You're safe."

"S-a- -fffe," the other wearily agreed, shocking Severus, "alll-wa-ys proo-te-ct me… yu-'re h-ere. Safe."


	6. Chapter 6

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): A bit slashy.

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**Going Through, 6  
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"Little Brother."

That's what Snape had called him.

Harry had no idea why the other teen had called him that, had no idea what he might want, but in Harry's mind it hardly mattered.

Whether Snape just didn't want to be alone or whether he wanted to keep Harry close at hand so he could get some form of payback for his parent's deaths- Harry didn't know, but couldn't bring himself to care, either.

He already owed the professor so much and deserved any kind of retribution that the younger version of the surly wizard might think up. On top of that, he truly had no where else to go. He had already gotten his parents killed once, as well as their best friends and wanted to get no where near them lest he bring it on even earlier. No one else would have believed him- except maybe Dumbledore-and the old wizard had proven that he couldn't be trusted either.

Over and over, when the Daily Prophet had started printing those awful articles.

The entire year, the Headmaster had turned his back and practically run from Harry whenever Harry tried to speak with him. Aside from the hearing, Dumbledore hadn't said or done anything to defend Harry from the Daily Prophet's rumor mongering nor the jibes and derisions of his classmates, who- in turn - read the Headmaster's withdrawal as tacit permission and joined Umbridge in making his life a misery. As he thought about the Headmaster's sudden withdrawal, he slowly realized that it hadn't been all that sudden at all.

Every time that he could remember being in danger.

Year after year, whenever Harry was trying his hardest to keep bad things from happening, when things got their worst, the Headmaster had been conveniently absent, a fact which only made him feel incredibly worse about how he had treated Snape.

As far as Harry could remember, Almost every time he'd been close to danger, the professor had not only been present but actively trying to prevent Harry from getting involved in something: patrolling the halls, sending him outside when he, Ron, and Hermione had been planning to get to the stone before ... before Snape. They had been stupid enough to actually think it was Snape, when it had actually been Quirrel. Why had Dumbledore trusted Quirrel anyway? Snape new better. Harry had seen him confronting Quirrel, and Snape had even gotten hurt trying to get to the trapdoor and stop the possessed wizard.

That wasn't the only time Snape had gotten hurt either.

Every year, except maybe fourth year, Snape had seemed irritatingly-ever present whenever Harry had run headlong into trouble. Snape had even followed Remus into the shrieking shack, knowing it was a full moon and that the the other professor was a Werewolf. Even fourth year had been that odd discussion in the potions closet where Snape had been trying to figure out who was using the polyjuice potion, so Harry was fairly certain he'd been working behind the scenes even then.

How much more, he wondered, had Snape done to protect him that he never knew?

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Severus watched, from the seat he had taken, when the healer returned with the potions for his presumed twin. The other seemed to fall into deep thought as the healer began to examine him. So far, the other answered the healer's questions by nodding or shaking his head, but not speaking. The healer, so far, had chosen not to press the issue, but Severus could read the concerned man's expression well enough to know that his professional curiosity would not be quelled for much longer.

There were questions that would have to be answered and soon, but Severus had no idea how to get the proper answers to the other when they were being watched. As it was, he had already pressed his luck, calling the other 'Little Brother", and had been quite startled by the other's seeming acceptance of him as a protective older brother that he had apparently longed for... or lost as it was quite clear that he' had no recent protector.

Whether the other was aware of the truth or not, Severus had no way to tell. The other could be confounded by his sever injuries, or coherent enough to recognize that he needed an ally – particularly as whoever was responsible for his injuries seemed to have enough political influence to erase the ministry's records of the use of the curse that had scarred him before Severus had found him. In either event, it would work to their advantage to maintain the misconception.

The one critical problem that he felt would soon interfere with their plans was the continuous care provided by the healer and the waiting man with the gruff voice, whom he had finally heard the healer address as Auror Moody. Undoubtedly, the auror was only hanging around until he could get his forms filled out, but as long he was lurking in the shadows, anything the other said could give them away to the man.

"Se-r-us...?!?" A soft, weak cry grabbed his attention. The other was looking over at him urgently, anxiety flaring in his gaze. The healer by contrast, was looking at the other, with a facade of calm curiosity and expectation.

"I'm here. I'm coming." Severus hurriedly pushed himself out again, trying to get to the other before he said anything irrevocable.

Thankfully, the other remained silent until Severus lowered himself on to bedside beside the other's hip.

"I'm here. Are you in pain? Can I get you something?" Severus asked quietly.

"No," the healer answered for the other, "He's indicated that the potions he was given have mitigated his pain; however, he seems reluctant to answer any other questions."

Glancing back at the other, whom they were presuming to be his twin, Severus was relieved to see understanding and entreaty in the other's eyes. The brilliant green eyes were not confounded, only uncertain and relying on Severus to give the answers needed.

"What questions?" Severus asked softly.

"Well, he hasn't answered anything I have asked other than his physical condition."

"What did you ask?" Severus turned to the healer, intentionally injecting a note of suspicion into his tone, deciding that it would be within the range of reactions that the healer might expect from someone of their ages, who had come out of a similar experience. He hoped that if the healer and the Auror believed their reticence to answer was due to a lack of trust on their part, it would give him more time to create a viable explanation that they would not question too deeply.

"Nothing that either of you need to worry about." The healer assured him gently, seeming to take his tone at face value. "We are not holding either of you responsible for ... what's occurred. I was merely asking a few background questions."

"What kind of 'background' questions?" Severus challenged, almost sneering in disdain.

"While we were able to request your records from Hogwarts, I am afraid that we were not able to locate any record of your brother. Any information you can give us would help us with his treatment."

"What do you want to know?" Severus asked keeping his voice tight.

"Let's start out with something simple. How about your brother's name, age, and birthday?"

Severus nodded curtly. Thankfully, realizing that there would have been no legitimate reason not to give at least a name, Severus had thought that far ahead. Severus answered slowly, carefully making certain that the other was listening; although, he need not have worried, the other's eyes were focused on him with rapt attention, "Servas Prince Snape, 15, the ninth of January, 1960."

"So, you are twins?" The healer asked, seeming to want to confirm his earlier suspicion.

"Yes."

"For twins, your relative sizes are quite disparate. Do you have any idea why that might be?"

Severus foundered, in all of the contemplation about his 'twin's' background, he had not gotten as far as explaining their differing physical conditions. He would have gotten that far- given the chance, but had focused on the issues that he had been certain would come up first: the events leading to his father's attack, what Lily had seen, and the reasons that no one had known about his previously non-existent brother. He should have realized that the healer would have focused on more practical and immediate matters.

As he tried to grope for an adequate response that wouldn't be questionable later, a soft rough voice interrupted, "the cupboard."

"What?" Severus and the healer, questioned simultaneously.

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"_Servas Prince Snape" _Harry pondered the name quietly as Snape misled the healer. Hermione had tutored him enough in Latin for him to be able to translate the name after a second, and it seemed strangely appropriate; at least the Servas part did. It meant redeem, and Harry couldn't help but hope that Snape's choice of a name was a good omen. He desperately craved the chance to redeem himself both to his future professor and to the others, whose deaths he'd caused.

The age was right, too, as it had been the end of his fifth year when Harry had fallen through the veil.

January? Well, the actual date never mattered much. It wasn't as if there were anyone around who would want to remember or celebrate his real birthday.

Harry's attention was suddenly drawn to Snape's face as the other teen's eyebrows rose in startled irritation.

"... sizes are quite disparate. Do you have any idea why that might be?"" the healer was questioning Snape, and it was clear, at least to Harry, that the other teen hadn't gotten that far in his plotting. After Snape gaped for a second, thoughts practically whorling in his eyes as he seemed to grope for a response, the answer suddenly came to Harry from a bit of advice the twins had given him back third year about how to tell lies that he could get away with, by telling the truth.

"The cupboard," he answered taking the idea to heart. It wouldn't be easy to say it, after he had tried to keep it private for so long, but it wasn't as if the healer hadn't already said to that other man, that Harry had ... had suffered neglect... and malnutrition.

"What?" Severus and the healer, questioned simultaneously. Their confused expressions were almost comically identical, but Harry ignored it as he steeled himself to integrate his truth into the background that Snape was trying to give him.

"Wh-en Se-r-us wasn't ... was-n't ... was-n't ... there to... to pro- protect...me," Even without the anxiety of trying to lie effectively, Harry was having a difficult time trying to get the words out. His throat was dry and tight, regardless of what the healer said the potions were supposed to do, and years of not wanting to tell and not telling anyone how he had been treated at home seemed to act like bands around his throat constricting so that he could barely get a word out at a time, " I was... he... he put m-e in... lock-ed me in... a cupboard... Days. So-me days... mo-st days... I didn't get to – get to ... to eat."

Despite wanting to see whether they had accepted what he said as the mixed truth it was, Harry couldn't force his gaze up from his hands. It was so embarrassing. He had never wanted to tell anyone how his aunt and uncle had treated him, but he owed Snape so much already, and Snape seemed to want to claim him as a brother, and he needed somewhere else to go, and there was no one that he could really tell the full truth to, not at all. He couldn't let anyone know what happened before he woke up, so if that meant that he had to use his messed up childhood with his relatives to distract them from the truth, he just would no matter how mortifying. He'd tell them every little bit if he had to; even about all of the names his uncle'd call him.

He hated to even think about all of the mean and stupid names that his uncle had called him. When he was at school, there was always so much going on that it seemed to drown out his uncle's voice in his thoughts. All of the horrible words that he'd heard since before he could understand them would dim under the constant activity and sound. Even at night, the noises around the castle would dull the echos of his uncle's voice so he could sleep. It was when he was away that he could hear them and hear the awful truths that they were telling him.

Without realizing, Harry was working himself into an anxiety attack: his hands twisted each in the other's grasp until he was wringing them; his breathing broke into gasps that barely allowed the echoes of his uncle's insults to come tumbling off his lips- unknowingly.

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"Wh-en Se-r-us wasn't ... was-n't ... was-n't ... there to... to pro- protect...me, I was... he... he put m-e in... lock-ed me in... a cupboard... for days."

Severus gaped, despite himself as he listened to the words that tumbled haltingly from the other's lips, astonished and impressed by the other's ingenuity until something in the other's tone struck him as being undeniably genuine. The other wasn't just giving support to Severus's lie, he was telling the truth. Maybe it was presented in a way that matched Severus's falsehood, but it was the truth; nevertheless.

"So-me days... mo-st days... I didn't get to – get to ... to eat... said... he said... said burden. Said I was a a burden, a waste – of – of food. A ... a ... no-good – a – no-good fr-eak. Shou-ldn't, shou-ldn't ha-ve been... be-en bo-r-n. An abom-ina-tion. A waste ... of good money n' good food. ... a fre-akish... a freakish thing... a no- good... no- good... "

The other teen's broken gasps punctuated each word, tears streaming down his face, and his fingers growing bloodlessly white as he wrung them. As the other spoke, Severus suddenly realized that he didn't seem able to stop, and the feeling of kinship that he'd felt so briefly earlier swept through Severus full force as he watched his suffering other: the other, whom he had named, and who had accepted the name he'd given him.

Reaching out carefully, he untwined the other's hands, Servas's hands and gripped them firmly in his own – ordering, "Stop, Servas. Stop. Breathe. Take a deep breath. You're safe. I'm here. Take a deep breath. You're safe. I'm here. Shhhh. It's stop. You're safe."

When his words finally got through, the other... Servas, nodded, still not meeting his eyes, and slumped down into his pillows.

The healer commented softly, "You're very good with him, you know. It's good you're here. I could not have given him a calming draught with the other potions he's been given. Too many adverse reactions. Now..."

"I think he's had enough of your 'background' questions." Severus snapped, irritated by the healer's attempt at a soothing bedside manner, when he had done nothing to ease Servas's fit.

"I know this is difficult for you, both, but I assure you that every bit of information that we can gain about your brother will aid us in his treatment."

Ineloquent and violent curses ran through Severus's thoughts as he tried to figure out how to stall. He didn't want the lies he was going to have to tell to cause them to make a mistake, but it wasn't safe if Servas couldn't control how much of the truth he was going to tell. The only answer he could think of was to fall back on his first instinct and push the man away with a fit of his own temper, until he had a chance to figure out how to answer the next of the healer's questions. Even if they gave him a calming draught, it was unlikely they'd resort to veritaserum for him, and if they couldn't give Servas the calming draught, then they absolutely couldn't give him the truth-inducing.

Just as he was opening his mouth to object, vigorously, and rudely, Servas's fingers curled around his arm, and the other shook his head.

"Better now." Servas commented softly, "You're here."

Although the message was veiled in Servas's careful comments, Severus could read the meaning behind the words, and reluctantly had to agree. It was better to have their questions answered now, before they could think of more, when they might not push if they though that it might cause Servas to have another fit, and if it happened while they were together. If Severus pushed it off until they separated him from the other boy, there was too much chance of a lie being caught.

"Okay." he answered, intentionally sulking, and unpleasant, hoping to make the healer tread carefully, "What else do you want to know?"

"Thank you, Severus, Servas. Servas, you said that you were locked into a cupboard while your brother was away, and that you weren't fed regularly?"

"Yes." Servas murmured softly, twisting his fingers even though Severus was still holding them lightly.

"Well, that's consistent with what our diagnostic scans have shown us so far. May I ask how often this occurred? "

Servas shrugged, but answered bleakly, "a lot."

"Were you ever given any reason for why you were locked in the cupboard?"

"Acci-dent-al mag-ic." Servas stuttered tensely, and Severus could see that he wasn't certain whether his answer would fit in with what Severus had planned, but it clearly wasn't a question that Severus would be able to answer.

"Our _father_," Severus interrupted, spitting the title as if it was an epithet, "hated magic."

"Hmm. I see. It does make me wonder how your magical channels are as developed as they are."

"Se-r-us taught me. We hid... and he- he taught me. Re-med-ial less-ons. Our sec-ret." Servas uttered fervently, as if spilling a secret that they had kept between them, impressing Severus with his guilelessness.

If he had been an outside observer and hadn't known that they had only met earlier that day, he would have been inclined to believe Servas as well.

"How long has he been teaching you?"

"Five years."

"What subjects do you like the best?"

"Defense..." Servas answered quickly, and the healer responded with a sad smile, clearly having decided for himself why the smaller child would have been drawn toward defense.

"Any others?"

"I'm pants at potions." Servas shrugged seeming embarrassed, and the healer nodded.

"Well... I've heard from my own son how your brother excels in the subject." the healer commented gently, smiling at what he was interpreting as a younger brother's mixed envy and admiration, "All in all, though, while your magical channels are not as developed as I would have liked, given the circumstances, your brother has done a remarkable job. I'm impressed."

"As am I." An unexpected, but familiar, voice interrupted the healer, causing Severus and Servas to jerk in surprise. "But, then, Severus has demonstrated remarkable talent during his time at Hogwarts."

-.-.-.-.-.-

ブレンーキンー

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Healer Potter?"

Albus Dumbledore stood in framed in the the doorway watching the young men who were eying him warily, "May I speak with the your young patients for a moment? I would like to offer my condolences and offer my assistance in their time of need."


	7. Chapter 7

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): A bit slashy.

-.-.-.-.-.-

_"Healer Potter?"_

_Albus Dumbledore stood in framed in the the doorway watching the young men who were eying him warily,_

_ "May I speak with the your young patients for a moment? _

_I would like to offer my condolences and offer my assistance in their time of need."_

-.-.-.-.-.-

**Going Through, 7**

Leaning back into his pillows, Harry shook his head violently, unaware of sudden strength of his grip on Severus's hand, as a bolt of anger shot through him.

The Headmaster, coming to offer condolences and assistance - as if he cared, but if he'd cared, where had he been when they needed him? Where had he ever been?

Harry had trusted him once, even after Quirrel; even after the Basilisk, when he could have come with Fawkes the way he escaped from Fudge and Umbridge but sent the hat instead; not even when he could have gotten Harry out of the tournament, Harry'd later realized when Hermione explained how dangerous Umbridge's detentions had been because his magic could have taken his act of writing lines as a magical oath sealed in blood- in his in place of his knowing signature ... The binding component of a magical signature; he'd never tried and Harry had lost everything because of it. Well, no more.

He wasn't going to trust Dumbledore again, and he didn't think Snape should either.

-.-.-.-.-.-

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-.-.-.-.-.-

"Servas, calm down... Servas... breath ... Come on... Breath ... In ... Take a breath in... There... Yes, that's it; now another." Severus coached Servas, lowering his voice to get the other's attention as he tried to puzzle out Servas's reaction.

The emotions reflected in Servas's gaze were an inexplicable mixture of recognition, (which made no sense), hurt, anger, and suspicion that made no sense directed at the headmaster.

Where had he even seen the headmaster before ... Much less under a situation that could cause a look of that quality?

The look Servas was giving the headmaster was so scathing and nearly hostile that it seemed more in the nature of displays that Severus, himself, used to push others away before they could cause him grief.

If Severus didn't know anything of the headmaster, he almost might have thought that the headmaster had been the abuser who'd tortured Servas and left him for dead... but that was impossible!

The ancient wizard was the headmaster of the most renowned school of Magic in all of Britain. He was a member of the Wizengamot and rumored to to be its next Chief Mugwump. He had enough clout that he could have been Minister if he'd wanted, done anything he wanted... … including expunge inconvenient entries from Ministry records.

According to the historical accounts that he and Lily had researched, Dumbledore's duel with the dark wizard Grindewald, just twenty years earlier, had been a vicious, cunning, and utterly unmerciful. Yet the wizard shuffled around like a dottering grandparent - seemingly mellowed by his advanced age.

Twenty years in the span of a wizard's lifetime would hardly have that drastic an effect, though Severus had never considered the matter before.

Certainly the headmaster's experiences in the war might have caused him to take on a more peace-minded attitude, but if that were the case, would he have been so prone to turn a blind eye on the house rivalry when it so often became violent?

The more Severus considered the possibility, the more the idea became horrifically feasible, and despite himself, Severus found his grip on Servas's hands growing as taut as the other's grip on his own hands.

The wizarding world suddenly seemed unutterably more threatening.

-.-.-.-.-

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-.-.-.-.-.-

"Headmaster, My apologies, but that would be inadvisable, at the moment; as you can see, both are in a very delicate condition and upsetting either further could have detrimental effects on their recovery." Harrison Potter remarked with concern.

It was understandable that the smaller teen would distrust the Headmaster, but the other young man, Severus, so suddenly appeared so pale that the healer anticipated him passing out at any moment.

-.-.-.-.-

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-.-.-.-.-.-

"Yes, of course, I understand. Of course, I understand; however, perhaps what I have to say will alleviate some of their concerns. I know that they both must be concerned about what will happen after they recover." Albus Dumbledore offered gently, as he studied the two boys.

Even after Alastor had come to notify him of the Snape's deaths and the discovered twin, with incontrovertible evidence, Albus had found it difficult to credit that the Snape boy had been able bear up under such a terrible burden.

He had searched his knowledge of the boy for any other possible explanation - including that the other young man was an accomplice to foul play - and had been prepared to believe that possibility before the seemingly more unbelievable possibility, until he had arrived unobserved to overhear their responses both to the Healer Potter and each other then turned the corner and find them clinging to each other like like lifelines. Well familiar, from both wars, with the sight of orphans clinging to each other as the last vestige of their ruined lives, Albus could no longer deny the proof of his own eyes nor its implications.

In doing so, his own failed role in the boys' lives became apparent. Severus should have been able to come to him for help, but the boy's distrust was readily apparent, and he was neither so blind nor so naive as to think that he had not earned it.

In attempting to sway young Sirius Black from his family's darkness, it appeared that he had condemned two others - equally innocent - to years of neglect, torment and abuse, in hopeless certainty that there would be no rescue. He had perhaps even sowed the seeds of their own darkness, himself, for as well as suspicion, he also saw in their eyes anger and a simmering desire to strike out before they could be injured further. Such instincts would need tempering, but that could begin as soon as he took them back to the castle.

Pulled from his quiet contemplation, by the soft "hrrrhghmph" of the healer clearing his throat, Albus set aside his planning, and nodded to the man's expectant expression.

"As Severus is currently a student at Hogwarts and Servas at an age that he might attend, yet you are both under age; I have prevailed on the Minister to allow you both to be named as wards of the school. After you are recovered, you will be returned to school where you may spend the remainder of the break in the company of the other students who have stayed over the holidays. For the moment, Servas may share your dorm, Severus then when the semester resumes we can have him sorted properly."

Smiling his most benign smile, Albus glanced from the healer, who was now frowning, to his students, whose expressions staggered him with shame. Severus, the one who should have at least recognized the offer as an opportunity, was shockingly pale and either holding his breath or breathing so shallowly that it couldn't be seen. The other child's expression, a twist of anguish and hopelessness, was no better, and Albus felt his smile falling.

"Headmaster, I think that we should continue this discussion later." Healer Potter suggested firmly. "Allow me to show you out."

"Of course, of course," Albus agreed in a soft murmur before bowing to the two boys.

-.-.-.-.-

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-.-.-.-.-.-

"Headmaster," Harrison addressed the older wizard carefully, once they were a circumspect distance from the young men's sickroom. "First, I would strongly recommend that you revoke the arrangements you have made. While I recognize that you wish to offer the Snapes a safe haven, it is an incredibly ill-conceived approach."

"Nonsense, Hogwarts is a safe nurturing environment; the staff and I pride ourselves on providing a home away from home for all of our students."

"Exactly. For all of your students... if I had my preferences, I would recommend that the Snapes not return to Hogwarts for the remainder of the year."

When Headmaster Dumbledore started to protest, Harrison interrupted forcefully, "Let me explain."

After studying him, the Headmaster nodded permissively, but with a unusually mild expression that suggested he was just humoring the healer.

Harrison knew how to deal with that: sometimes bandages simply had to be ripped off instead of dissolved and banished.

"The problem with your plan, Headmaster, is that you just told two boys, who are still reeling from having had their lives turned upside down and their darkest most private secrets exposed, that you are going to subject them to the prying eyes and questions of their peers, who happen to be complete strangers to one of the boys, and then on top that nightmare, you announced that barely a week later, you were going to tear one of the boys from the only protector, guide, and nurturer he has ever known so he can be 'properly sorted' as though their reliance on each other is wrong in some manner... And what would you provide in exchange for this disruption of their bond? The split attention of instructors who also have dozens of other students to be concerned with? Headmaster," he paused as the wizard's mild expression transformed into an expression of true chagrin.

"I really must insist that you cancel these plans, and further that you discuss any further ideas with me before springing them on the boys."

"I see." The Headmaster finally responded, "I hadn't considered it from that perspective."

"Which is why school officials are rarely consulted in the matter of placement." Harrison chastised lightly, moderately irritated by the wizard's high-handedness the more he thought on it. "There are systems in place to deal with situations such as this in the best manner for the children involved. Let us do our jobs, Headmaster."

-.-.-.-.-

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"... In the best manner for the children involved..." at the healer's words, Albus barely suppressed the urge to note that he had seen the outcome of other young men who had been warded to the system the healer had spoken of, knowing that he couldn't disregard his own mishandling and detachment as influential in young Tom's outcome as well. He had already misread Severus's situation so badly and nearly written the boy off. Could he afford to just leave it in others hands as he had done before?

"What do you suggest then?" he inquired gently, reluctant to let the boys slip out of his hands.

"As I said, I feel that they should be removed from school for the remainder of the year. During that time, they should be placed with someone, who can give them his undivided attention. Preferably, it would be a single man or widower with no children of his own."

"Surely a couple would be better?" Albus interjected critically. "Being placed into the custody of a wizard, after being abused by their father can hardly offer the stability they need."

"Quite to the contrary, given their background, they are unlikely to believe that a witch could protect them; they are at an age where they will be naturally inclined to pull away from a witch's influence; and complicating matters further will be the fact that any affiliation or affection they do develop with a female guardian could cause them to feel as if they are betraying their mother who was both a co-victim to them and the sacrifice that ended their torment. No, it is incredibly unlikely that they could bond with a female guardian, and in the case of a couple, they would not be able to feel secure while rejecting one of their guardians. A male guardian would only have the hurdle of demonstrating that he could be trusted, which in some cases, can be established with something as simple as a magical oath."

"As to the rest of your suggestion..." Albus prompted, considering potential order members he could cajole into taking one or both boys.

"They'll need time both to develop a productive relationship with their guardian and time for tutoring to bring Servas up to his brother's standard so they may take classes together."

"Would not holding Severus back to his brother's handicapped standard create resentment between them and further feed a potentially crippling dependency?"

"Perhaps, but there is a far greater likelihood that we would sabotage the learning processes of both brothers by forcing them apart, and you should be aware that this dependency is already firmly in place. Bonds like this, created over more than a decade can not be forcibly dismantled without destroying both parties."

Shaking his head at the healer's stubborn refusal to consider his questions, Albus realized he would have to follow his own counsel in the matter. The healer was simply too young to understand the possible threats that two disillusioned young wizards could become, especially when they possessed the magical potential these young men did.

"Very well, I'll consider your suggestions." he finally responded dismissively, missing the look of irritated determination in the Healer's eyes.

-.-.-.-.-

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-.-.-.-.-.-

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): A bit slashy.

ブレンキン

Going Through, 8

When Old Odgens began to slosh over the edge of his shot glass, Alastor glared at his shaking hand and slammed the bottle of firewhiskey down on the rickety kitchen table.

"Sir, I can handle it from here." His partner offered hesitantly.

"Can ye' now?" he slurred slightly, but ignored it. Before he saw the bottle empty, he expected he'd be more than slurring.

"Yes, Sir. I have been versed in the appropriate exorcism spells and ritual; I have prepared the crime scene with the proper wards and seals; all that remains to do is wait for their appearance and cast the final incantation."

"So easy, hunh? An I suppose their spirits will just tip their hats, say by your leave, and step in time? Even knowing that they're heading off to be judged for their crimes?"

"No, Sir. I wasn't saying that it would necessarily be easy; however, the Academy's seminar series on the exercise of vengeful spirits from violent crime scenes provided a thorough guideline for the process."

"Heh," Alastor chuckled briefly before tossing back the whiskey. "You ever actually _d-o-n-e _anexorcism, eh, King?"

"It's Kingsley, Sir." The novice auror sighed, a with frustration. It wasn't the first time that he'd mentioned it to Alastor, but Alastor figured that he'd figure out sooner or later that it was a useless effort. "No, I haven't had the opportunity to, personally, do an exorcism; however, we were given extensive practice through trained-boggart simulations."

"Impressive." Alastor answered dryly, "Go home, kid, re-read your manuals, and fluff your robes, there might be a test in the morning."

"Sir, with all due respect, you're inebriated.."

"Not yet, King, just a bit toasty." he chuckled waving at the still more full than empty whiskey bottle.

"Sir, its my duty as an auror to report the incapacity of any other auror to my superior."

"Heh." Alastor snorted, "You've just reported it to your superior. Tomorrow, if the miscreant still appears to be incapacitated, I will further the matter for investigation."

The young black man's expression threatened an immanent explosion for several seconds,giving Alastor the slightest hope that, for once, his partner might work up the spirit to actually disobey orders. The hope faded quickly, though, as the younger man's shoulders drooped, and he nodded.

Giving King an impudent flip of a salute, Alastor ordered, "Off you go."; tossed back the shot; and smirked as his partner shot him a reproachful glower before apparating away.

"Come on out, Girl. I know how the spell works, and ken that you've been here all this while."

"Auror Moody," the shade acknowledged as her form coalesced in a pale wash of light in the shadows.

"Well, you used the spell." He commented dryly.

"If you did not expect me to," the ghost inquired, "whyever did you teach me the spell?"

"Oh, I thought you might; I always knew that it would come to this. Still... wasn't quite certain that your wand would let you."

She nodded with understanding. By and large, having picked their possessors, wands tended to protect their witch or wizard and often faltered in the midst of spells that might injure or kill their owners.

"I used my son's wand."

"Aye, that explains it, then."

Once it sensed her intent,her son's wand had undoubtedly cooperated, possibly even strengthening the spell. They were silent for several seconds before he finally broached the topic that had been lingering between them unspoken: "You protected your children; you're free of your husband – your children, too; your job's done. No reason I can see for you to hang around, longer."

"No, the children aren't protected, not yet."

"Your spell worked. Your husband's bound for the pit, and they're safe in a healer's care now."

Eileen's spirit frowned at the Auror, and as she studied him, Alastor had the distinct impression that she was trying to decide whether he could be trusted.

"Spit it out, girl. It's not like you can leave this dump."

Unlike other ghosts and spirits, shades, who left their lives by their own hands, were often trapped in the location of their death until they crossed over.

"Would you help them, even if it jeopardized your position? Perhaps your life?"

Alastor stared at her or rather through her, trying to figure out what the boys could be into. What would give her reason to think that they would be in enough jeopardy that it could cost him his life?

Neither of the boys behaved with the cold detachment that was common in those who'd been tainted by dark magic, and Alastor had almost become an expert at detecting that kind of behavior. On top of that, they were both half-bloods, so likely would not be welcomed among the Dark Arse's lackeys. He couldn't think of any other involvements that were as likely to threaten him; though the shade had been isolated since she'd left school, so likely wouldn't have heard how many raids and scuffles Alastor had emerged from successfully.

His life or his position, and wasn't that really the more interesting question? It bloody well implied that one of his superiors was impugned? If he was reading her correctly, then it was all to likely that he'd end up in the soup at one point or other; corruption spread like the taint of dark arts, eating away at its host until nothing was left but darkness and decay. Nothing to lose either way, was there?

"Yeah, I'll protect them." It was an easy promise to make as he'd already intended to keep an eye out for the boys, to assuage his lingering guilt for his involvement in their mother's death.

The spirit studied him for several seconds, before asking quietly, "Even from The Great Lord of Light and Goodness? Even from Albus 'The Deliverer' Dumbledore?"


	9. Chapter 9

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): in the distant future chapters it might get bit slashy.

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_Eileen__'__s__ spirit __frowned __at __the __Auror__, __and__ as__ she __studied __him__, __Alastor __had __the__ distinct __impression_

_that __she__ was__ trying __to __decide __whether__ he__ could__ be __trusted__..._

"_...__I__'__ll__ protect __them__." __It__ was __an __easy __promise__ to __make__ as__ he__'__d__ already __intended__ to __keep__ an__ eye__ out__ for __the __boys__, _

_if only to __assuage __his__ lingering __guilt __for __his __involvement __in __their __mother__'__s __death__.  
_

_The__ spirit __studied __him __for __several __seconds__, __before __asking __quietly__, "__Even __from__ The __Great __Lord __of__ Light __and__ Goodness__? _

_Even__ from __Albus__ '__The __Deliverer__' __Dumbledore__?"_

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**Going****Through****, 9**

"How are they doin'?" Alastor questioned the distracted healer, who was rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Not well." the wizard sighed, irritably.

"What? Is it the smaller lad? I thought ye had him stabilized."

"No, it's both of them. And yes, we had. At least until they received an unexpected and very unwelcome visitor."

"Have they some family, then?"

"One could only wish. No, their visitor was the headmaster from Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. Headmaster Dumbledore ever-so kindly informed them that he is going to drag them to Hogwarts as soon as they're out of their sickbed."

"I take it from yer' tone that they didn't jump at the idea."

"That's an understatement. If I didn't know better, no... let me rephrase that... I am almost certain that they believe themselves so helpless to prevent this occurrence that they are fighting it in the only way they could think of to keep it from happening: by allowing themselves to weaken so much so that he won't be able to force them from their sickbeds."

"Seems a might extreme."

"Perhaps, but given their backgrounds, I can understand their reaction. Severus and Servas were raised in an environment that forced them to accept almost complete helplessness under the rule of their muggle father, an environment where each was the only other person that the other could truly could rely on."

"What about their mum?"

"No, for whatever reason, Ms. Snape appears to have been unable or unwilling to interfere before her last act. Servas noted that, as soon as Severus was sent to Hogwarts each year, their father locked him in a cupboard, neglected, and abused the child. Considering the usual reactions of children emerging from abusive experiences, I suspect that it quite likely goes much deeper than that, given that he was willing to admit at least that much in the presence of an almost complete stranger. I am convinced that neither one felt that they could trust or rely on their mother to mitigate their abuse - and felt completely helpless to the the whims of their muggle father."

"Then bringing them to the school then would be bound to make them feel safer." Alastor suggested.

"It might have, yes." The doctor sneered, in an expression that looked totally alien on his face, "if the 'great and noble' Dumbledore had not told them that as soon as they're out of their hospital beds, he will to be taking them back to Hogwarts, make a spectacle of them, then toss them in separate houses ensuring that they will be unlikely to even see each other half the time, especially as Severus is in Slytherin. You know as well as I the growing antipathy toward that house, and from what my son has told me, Dumbledore has turned a blind eye to it - practically endorsing it by his refusal to intervene and his attitude has left a clear impression on the boys."

"I can't see as how the little one would even know of him."

"While it is true that Servas will naturally know less of our society, having been deprived entirely of its benefits, his brother has done a remarkable job during the limited time they had during holidays to instruct Servas in the subjects he himself was learning. Frankly, the fact that Servas's magical channels are as developed as they are, under such trying circumstances, is a testament to their dedication and trust in each other. It's a rather amazing feat on the whole." The healer paused shaking his head at the thought and sending a faintly admiring glance toward the wall, that Alastor knew separated them from the boys.

Alastor had assumed that their mum had taught the younger boy and was rather surprised to have that feet overturned. It was an impressive achievement for the older boy. Alastor had taught at the auror academy on occasion and while the task had it's moments, he'd never had the patience to deal with the adult dunderheads who come to him with at least a basic knowledge of the subject matter. The thought of Severus having to start from scratch and teach subjects that he was only just learning himself - raised his estimation of the boy considerably. It still didn't answer his question, though.

Seeming to realize this for himself, the healer continued, "Among with the other subjects Severus taught his brother, he must have taught Servas something about the Headmaster and his status as he appeared to know enough to recognize and fear the Headmaster. In light of what they had suffered at the hands of an uncaring man, who had neither the magical nor the political power that Dumbledore possesses, is it any wonder that they would be inclined to distrust someone of his power - especially when his first interference in their lives is the announcement of his intention to separate them from their only trusted ally? Moreover, from their perspectives, I suspect that they feel incapable of fighting his decision, so are protesting in the only manner they can. "

"An how's that?"

"Servas, the smaller twin, has almost completely stopped responding, even to his brother; and Severus is little better. If prompted, he will respond, but with little more than nods and monosyllable responses. Severus while not blatantly refusing to eat, leaves his meals untouched, and refuses to leave the chair beside Servas's bed for more than a few moments. While his injuries were not as severe as those Servas suffered, they are still serious injuries, and he is going to need time to rest and recover as much as his brother will."

"Twins, eh? Well, I knew ye said the were brothers, but wouldn't have expected that not with their size difference."

"Actually," the healer sighed, pulling off his glasses and producing a handkerchief to polish them, pensively, as he continued. "Servas was able to explain the differences in their sizes. As I mentioned, seems that as soon as Severus left for school each year, their father locked Servas into a cupboard for days at a time without feeding him. The resulting malnutrition, inactivity, and lack of sunlight would explain the deficiencies in his core and vision as well as his height."

"They've a rough road behind them. No arguin that." Alastor granted. "No reason it can't be turned around now, though, that they're away from that place."

"I am afraid that I an not as optimistic as yourself." the healer retorted, banishing his kerchief and returning his glasses to the bridge of his nose, to stare at Alastor with a razor sharp, demanding gaze, "I have spent the entire morning contacting every caseworker, administrative assistant, and supervisor in Children's Services to no avail. Whatever strings the headmaster pulled, he's gotten their custody tied up so tight that I couldn't even get a single one to consider waiting for the teens to be seen by a mind healer, first. I am sorry to say this, but that old man has too much power at his finger tips. Something like this shouldn't be allowed to happen."

"An yer sure it's a bad turn for the boys?"

"If they had just been going to Hogwarts? Yes, that would have been bad enough alone to reject the idea. But then to tell them that they're to be separated? That's an act of unaccountable cruelty. I doubt that there is a single, other person, living, that either brother trusts, in this world. Especially now. Especially now, they need to be with someone they can trust. Dumbledore can't or won't see that, and as long as he remains willful blind to the fact, they won't be able to trust him, either. He was right about one thing, subjecting them to the control of powerful, male guardian, whom they feel unable to trust, would be one of the worst things that could happen to them- what he fails to see, is that he is taking that role for himself."

"Ye've tried talkin to him, then?"

"Yes, I had actually thought that I'd gotten through to him for a few moments, but by the end of the interview, it was clear that despite my training, greater knowledge of their particular circumstances, and objective opinion, Headmaster Dumbledore is convinced that his perception of the matter overrides my professional judgment, ministry protocol, and the boys' very obvious rejection of the matter."

"Have you talked to their caseworker?" Alastor asked, already anticipating the answer.

"I attempted to; however, Children's Services has, rather conveniently - for Dumbledore - not yet found the time to assign a caseworker, and judging by the responses that I have received this morning, it seems very low on the list of priorities. I realize that the wizarding world owes an incalculable debt to Dumbledore for rescuing us from Grindewald; nevertheless, it's disturbing to think that the coin we are paying the debt in is the futures of defenseless children.."

"Now don't be getting yer wind up, so quick." Alastor cautioned, "Sometimes it just takes someone, who knows how to speak ministry-speak to get things done."

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Twenty-seven minutes later, Alastor pulled his head out of the healer's floo with a surly growl. He admired Dumbledore. No question of that. The elderly wizard had done incredible things for the wizarding world, and he deserved their respect and no little bit of deference, but no one man should have the ability to derail ministry operations on a whim.

Ignoring the healer's 'now-you-see' expression, Alastor ordered, "You've got someone to watch the sprogs, yeah?"

"Yes, a medi-witch and my wife are both available." Healer Potter agreed tentatively, "Why?".

"Well, grab yer goods and let's see if I still have enough blag left to fix this bodge job."

Potter cocked his head slightly, studying Alastor's expression, then nodded sharply and swept a surprising number of files off his desk top and nodded back to the floo.

"Cornelius Fudge's office, alohamora-code: the people's guardian." He called out to the unseen floo operator, rolling his eyes in a side-long glance at the healer to share what he thought of the minister's code of the day.

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TBC: The pieces are almost in place to bring the boy's back on stage. Coming up next, Rita Skeeter's debut article, as well as Lily, James, and Sirius's reactions to the articles.


	10. Chapter 10

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): in the distant future chapters it might get bit slashy.

**Going****Through****, 10**

**

* * *

**

_**Safe**__**, **__**At**__**Last**__**! **_

by

_Rita Skeeter_

"Your safe, Little Brother. I'm here. You're safe." promised a distraught, fifteen year-old Severus Tobias Snape, tears glimmering in his eyes as he desperately clutched his twin brother's hand.

"You always protect me. You're here. I'm safe," answered Servas Prince Snape, the broken child, whom Severus, a child of abuse and neglect, himself, has fought all of his life to nurture, teach, and protect.

In a heartbreaking tragedy that unfolded just hours ago, it was revealed that these two children have been starved, neglected, and abused throughout their lives by their cruel and abusive Muggle father. Servas, himself, whose very existence was denied and never recorded in the annals of the ministry and other public records is currently recovering from the severe abuse suffered at their father's hands, under the care of Healer Harrison Potter, St. Mungo's Master Healer and Co-chair of the Healing Center's Board of Governors. His father's reasons for denying him not only the benefits of wizarding society as but his very education in his gifts can only be speculated upon; however, one thing can be certain, while it is not unheard of for unfortunate squibs to be protected from the tragedy of their condition by a home-based education, this had no bearing on Servas's state as inside sources have revealed that not only are both brothers fully magical, but powerfully so.

Held hostage to ensure his brother's silence, not only was Servas denied the right of every magical child - to be educated in their gifts - their barbaric, fear-ridden muggle father starved, emotionally and physically abused, and reviled this precious child as an "abomination"! Due to this muggle's betrayal of his simple parental duties, Servas is visibly shorter, suffering from malnutrition, and less magically developed - despite the efforts of his twin, Severus, who has been attempting to teach his brother about the wonders and skills of our world, whenever hazards of their tragic circumstances permitted. As a result of their father's attack, both twins were critically injured, only surviving due to the expertise of Healer Potter, and their muggle abuser paid for his crimes at the hands of his brave wife, Eileen Snape nee Prince, who nobly sacrificed her life, performing the viva maternalia incantation, one of the few legal variations of killing curse still permitted due to the fact that the spell requires the caster to exchange her life in the protection of her children under an immediate and life-threatening circumstance.

Reeling after her sacrifice, Servas and Severus Snape are expected to return to Hogwarts after their recovery until more permanent arrangements can be made. We, here at the Prophet, wish both young men a speedy recovery and a prosperous new life now that they have been freed from the cruelty of their oppressive muggle father.

* * *

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"Bloody Hell!" James Potter cursed as he stared at the prophet column, reading it over again quickly as he tried to get a grasp on what he said. This couldn't be right. It couldn't be the same Snivillus Snape that he knew. Snape was … well, he was bloody well tougher than this. There was no way that the greasy git was a half-blood; he was a Slytherin for Merlin's sake. He'd never let his old man thrash him. The Snape that he knew was well versed in dark curses and black magic; there was absolutely no way that he'd ever let a muggle beat on him. No way.

How many Severus Snapes could there be though? And fifteen, too? But, certainly not. Snape didn't have a brother... did he?

No, no he didn't, at least not one that claimed him, but then... The Prophet said that they'd hidden the other brother's existence. Why in Merlin's name would anyone do that, if the guy wasn't a squib? Maybe he was deformed, or something.

Yeah. that had to be it. Snivillus was an ugly git, and he was the one that they let go to school, so the other one had to be much, much worse. If it was the same Snape at least. It probably wasn't.

But the article said they were going back to Hogwarts, and there was only one Snape that he knew of at Hogwarts.

Grabbing up his quill again and cursing as it splattered ink over the holiday work that his mum had insisted on James doing if he wanted to go with Remus and Sirius to the concert, James tore off a piece of parchment the now ruined assignment and scribbled a note to Remus. Sticking it with a charm to the prophet article, he rolled the parchment back up, called his owl, and tossed it in the air for him to catch. Owlfred caught his messages a good fifty percent of the time, and this was one of his good days.

"Take it to Moony, old chum, and there'll be a nice juicy mouse in it for you when you get back."

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Setting down his tea, Remus wearily raised from his chair to open the window, before he sat back down holding his arm out for Owlfred to perch on. He had anticipated seeing James's owl from the moment that he had set down the prophet and began staring out the window.

A feeling of guilt and self loathing had settled over him as he stared out the window considering his own actions over the past five years that they had gone to school with Severus. He understood in a way that he didn't think either James or Sirius could, what a blessing and haven Hogwarts could be for someone whose homelife was less than ideal. Although he had never spoken to either of his friends of his own homelife, Remus was under no illusion that it was any where near the normality of the homelife that his friends shared.

After all, who else's parents had been so afraid of him or her that they both magically locked and dead bolted the doors every night out of fear that something might cause him to change outside of his normal cycle. It was an irrational fear; he knew it, and he was almost certain that they knew it as well, but irrational or not, every night at 7:30, since he had first turned, they would escort him down to his room that had been relocated to the basement and lock him inside. When he had been really young, about a month after he was first changed, their fear-fueled exhaustion had finally overwhelmed them and they had both slept close to three hours later than normal. As it happened he'd woken earlier than usual, and as he had waited and waited for them, he had begun to worry that they might leave him there and forget him. Of course, they hadn't, but the fear had never really left him either.

His parents had never really been truly cruel to them either; although, their ever-present fear had warped into a general distance that turned into subtle dislike and eventually uncaring neglect, and their decision to lock him up like a wild animal every night had felt to him like a taint on his soul that he had never been able to speak of because, after all, who else would understand what it would be like to be hated, feared, and locked away? Glancing back at the parchment in shame, he realized that he should have recognized what had been in front of his eyes all along.

Instead, he had been complicit in destroying for someone else the very haven that Hogwarts had been to him.

Wearily, he pulled off the sticked on note and - without looking- scribbled his answer, before handing it back to the Owlfred.

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"Yes, James. It is him. Considering everything, perhaps we should reconsider

our attitudes and actions against him in a different light."

James read Moony's note, muttered "Oh Shite" and crumpled the parchment up. To tell the truth. He really didn't want to think about things in a different light. He had been comfortable with the status quo (hating and being hated by the greasy, pure-blood, snivelling git had been just fine with him, thank you very much) and he had been feeling increasingly uncomfortable since reading the article.

He did not want to think about what it might say about him that he had actually made said git cry on their first year train to Hogwarts.

Nor did he want to think about the 'good natured' pranks that he and the other marauders had played on Snivellus in the years since.

In fact, there were quite a number of thoughts that he didn't want to think about at the moment.

Thankfully, he knew just whom he could rely on to take his thoughts off unpleasant matters.

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"The only travesty that I can discern is the fact that a mudblood was even permitted to attend Hogwarts." growled Orion Black as he threw down the prophet.

"Really, Orion such matters are hardly fit conversation for the dinner table."

"On the contrary, Walburga, I find the adequate and appropriate education of our children quite a fitting topic for discussion. I have no intention of allowing my sons to believe that I would approve, in any manner, shape or form, of their associating with the dregs of society. This is simply one more example of why such … individuals should be excised from our society." As he spoke, Orion's eyes fell primarily on his older son, Sirius, as if attempting to drill the full weight of his disapproval into his son's rebellious soul. Before Sirius could respond to his father's provocation; however, Regulus lowered the paper with a smirk.

"Father, you should be pleased to note, that in - at least this instance - Sirius has shown at least a trace of proper wizarding pride."

Dumbfounded by his brother's smug defense, Sirius let his jaw snap glared to at his brother - waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Orion's brow quirked up in surprise. It was rather difficult to believe that his wayward son might have - finally - behaved in a manner that merited his approval.

"Oh? How so? Given his … _common_ associations, my first inclination would be to presume the reverse to be true."

Ignoring both his brother's irritated hiss and their mother's derisive exhale, Regulus remarked enthusiastically, "No, in this, he's been different about it, right from the start: harassing and haranguing the mudblood, right from the start. Sirius let him know just exactly what we think of his kind and that he's neither fit nor wanted in the company of purebloods. Sirius's has even gotten Potter and Pettigrew into it."

"Is that true, Sirius?" Orion question sharing a calculating glance with his wife. "Have you truly ensured that the whelp understands how unwelcome his lot are?"

"What does this have to do with Snape?" Sirius huffed. The slimy git was the only one that Sirius could think of that he, James, and Peter had ever teamed up on, but Snape was a Slytherin, and surely, even if he was from one of the poorer families, he'd have to be a pureblood. Everyone knew that only purebloods go into Slytherin.

Taking his son's quick identification of Snape as a certain confirmation, Orion did something that he rarely ever did: smile at his older son.

"Perhaps blood will show, after all." He murmured speculatively, studying his son's agitated state as Sirius read the prophet. "In _light_ of Harrison Potter's foolish stand on the permitting the dilution of our society by allowing the integration of such trash not only into our society, which might have been forgiveable, if they had any idea of their proper station, but into our schools... I would have expected his son to be an equally lost cause; however, perhaps he has a backbone after all. Our Lor-"

"Orion." Walburga interrupted him, chastising him for his incaution. As far as she was concerned, Sirius might not have been as completely hopeless as she had once presumed, but that did not necessarily imply that he could be trusted.

Nodding abruptly, Orion agreed with her unspoken statement. "Perhaps, you are right, there are better subjects of discussion available. Regulus, have you selected your courses for the coming year?"

While Orion's attention was superficially directed toward his younger son, he did not fail to notice the charmed parchment crumple in Sirius's grip.

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A/N: I realize that I promised Lily would make an appearance in this chap, but when I actually began writing her section, it became too ingrained with planned segments for Sev and Servas, so I've relocated it into one of the two upcoming chapters. I can't be certain which one yet as Cornelius is being a bit difficult to work around.


	11. Chapter 11

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): in the distant future chapters it might get bit slashy.

**GoingThrough****, 11**

"What a sweet girl you are, Athene." Lily Evans cooed to the small, brown-streaked _Little_ owl as it dropped the prophet on the end of her desk and came to rest on her shoulder. Reaching up, she stroked the soft feathered feet, carefully avoiding the owl's talon's as she left her desk. Athene was always careful with her grip on Lily's shoulder, but jostling her talons caused her to grip more tightly, sometimes with even cutting strength. Gathering several earth worms from the aquarium that she kept for Athene, Lily dropped most of them into the dish on Athene's perch, refilled her water, and after gently re-depositing the small owl on her perch, offered Athene the remaining earthworms that she held back from the bowl.

"Did you have a good flight, Dearling?"

"Kee-iik." Athene answered with a bob and butted her head against Lily's hand for more worms.

"No, now." Lily chuckled softly, pulling her hand away, "Don't be lazy. I spoil you enough as it is, and you'd have me hand feed you every morsel if you could. There's more in your bowl."

"Kik." The protest was only half-hearted, though, and Athene was already dipping her head to the dish before Lily turned away and glanced between the prophet and the waiting charms assignment on her desk.

"There's no news that won't hold," she finally answered herself after a second and pulled two reference books from her bookshelf before returning to her essay.

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Smiling at the finished essay, Lily cast a quick dry charm over it and set it aside. She still had three other holiday assignments to start on before she could begin the research project that she and Severus had been discussing, and after lunch, she wanted to send Athene to see of it would be okay to check up on the boy they had found.

Still, the prophet was right there. It really wouldn't take that long to read, and she might find something in the astronomy forecasts for her assignment. Pushing aside the little whisper that her logic was entirely self-serving and that the prophet could hardly be called a proper news paper, Lily unrolled the parchment. Intending to go right to the Agony Aunt column for a quick read, Lily was startled to find the column replaced by a quarter page headline:

* * *

_**Safe**__**, **__**At**__**Last**__**!**_

by

_Rita__Skeeter_

"Your safe, Little Brother. I'm here. You're safe." promised a distraught, fifteen year-old Severus Tobias Snape, tears glimmering in his eyes as he desperately clutched his twin brother's hand.

"You always protect me. You're here. I'm safe," answered Servas Prince Snape, the broken child, whom Severus, a child of abuse and neglect, himself, has fought all of his life to nurture, teach, and protect."

* * *

Her eyes filling with tears as she read, Lily shook her head in denial.

"It can't be." She cried out softly, shaking her head.

Severus hadn't seemed to know him. She had asked when it had seemed like the boy had called Severus's name. She had asked... and... Severus hadn't answered, but he had acted like he didn't know him.

Severus had acted like he didn't recognize him, like he didn't even know whether the other boy was even a wizard. Why would he do that?

He wouldn't, but... it _HAD_ sounded like the boy had called Severus's name, but... he hadn't answered... and he hadn't wanted to take him to a muggle hospital or even St. Mungo's. But, he had said that was because they didn't know who had hurt the other boy, and it might have been wizards.

If it was his brother... did he really not know? Did he really think that Death Eaters had done it? Did he believe that his family had been targeted? He had seemed to want to get the boy back to his mother quickly and had claimed that it wasn't safe there.

Or was he afraid that someone would find out about the abuse? Is that why he'd lied to her? Because he'd known that she wouldn't have kept a secret like that?

Lily's head was spinning, and she felt so light headed as she stared down at the prophet, unable to even read the article for her tears, that she didn't notice Athene lighting on her shoulder and keikkiting in concern. After fluttering at her shoulder and ineffectually butting it's head against her cheek, Athene took off, still unnoticed and darted out her bedroom door.

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Hollie Evan's sighed in frustration as her daughter Petunia slouched back into the kitchen and dropped the laundry basket onto the kitchen table with a huffed sigh of her own. Her daughter's attitude was reaching the limit of Hollie's patience. She had hoped, honestly, that having Lily home again would soften Petunia's bitterness and jealousy; instead, it had seemed to triple to the point that every request she made of Petunia was met with the same sullen response: "Why don't you have Lily do it? I do it all the rest of the year?"

If Lily had been idle, or petulant over doing her share of their chores, Hollie might have understood, but she hadn't even needed to ask Lily to set the table, hoover the rugs, tend the garden, or any of the other chores that had been hers when the two sister's had gone to school together, and Hollie had never heard a word of complaint when Petunia fobbed off her regular chores on her sister, complaining that her sister 'hasn't been around to do much of anything'.

"I don't see why Lily isn't helping," Petunia grumbled under her breath as she flopped down into a chair and drug out a shirt to fold.

"Because Lily is studying, Dear. If your teachers had assigned homework over the holidays, I would be happy to see you up in your room working on your studies, but you told me that they haven't." As it was, Hollie was almost certain that Petunia had lied about not being assigned homework after their next door neighbor, Miranda had innocently commented about how much homework her own daughter Julia had received. Hollie was certain that Julia and Petunia had been in at least two classes together.

"Of course, she is." Petunia answered snidely, "Without her A-levels, Lily can't hope to make much of herself in the real world, can she? She'll have to get a job with those people, won't she, unless she decides to be a scrub woman. Maybe you should have her do more of the house work - for work experience you know. At least, she'll have something to fall back on."

Staring at her spiteful daughter, Hollie struggled to hold her temper, while searching for a response to Petunia's venom.

In truth, that had been one of the few concerns that she and her husband, Mark, still had about Lily going to Hogwarts. If, for some reason, Lily had to try to find employment in non-magical England, the lack of A-levels could be a serious impediment. Mark had finally decided, though, that their fear of the risk couldn't out weigh their daughter's hopes and had made some careful investments in Lily's name to support her, if it came to the worst.

Before Hollie could find a sufficiently placid response, Lily's small owl dived into the room chattering in distress.

"Oh, look at that. Precious Lily has forgotten how to even ask something like a 'normal person'; it's a wonder she doesn't just magic you up there."

"Petunia, enough. Go down to the market and pick up some fish fingers and crisps."

"Fish fingers! They're disgusting. Why..."

"They're for your father; he and a partner are heading up to London for an NHS lecture on changes in billing procedures. Please do as your asked, for once, without complaint."

"I'll need some notes, then." Petunia huffed, crossing her arms.

"No, you won't; we're paid up at Hoopers. Sign for it, and he'll send me the bill."

"Hoopers? Why do I have to go there? You said the market."

"Petunia! I am not going to let you turn this into another tantrum. Go to Hoopers and do as you've been asked."

"Yes, Mummy. I'd forgotten your precious Lily calls."

Turning on her heel, Hollie stalked out of the room, ignoring Petunia's continued grumbling. Every few steps, Athene circled back to urge her forward then turned forward again and flew forward clicking down the hall. The little owl seemed to have a distinct click that reserved for Lily alone, and if Hollie didn't know better, she would have sworn that her daughter's pet was calling out reassurances like a hen to a chick that they were coming. Help was on its way.

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Lily had sunk into her seat, when her mother came in, leaning her forehead into her palm as she traced each line of the article with a fingertip that occasionally lifted to blot her eyelashes.

"Sweetheart!"

When her mother's arms wrapped around her, Lily leaned into them dropping her head onto mother's shoulder and inhaled deeply, comforted by the cinnamon oil that her mother wore in place of perfume.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Hollie asked, pulling Lily's head under her chin and tilting her head until her cheek rested on her daughter's head.

"Sev... he... he..." unable to express everything swirling in her thoughts, Lily finally handed her mother the prophet, and pointed out where she had left off.

Holding it out far enough that they could both see the paper, Hollie began to read the article out loud.

* * *

In a heartbreaking tragedy that unfolded just hours ago, it was revealed that these two children have been starved, neglected, and abused throughout their lives by their cruel and abusive Muggle father. Servas, himself, whose very existence was denied and never recorded in the annals of the ministry and other public records is currently recovering from the severe abuse suffered at their father's hands under the care of Healer Harrison Potter, St. Mungo's Master Healer and Co-chair of the Healing Center's Board of Governors. His father's reasons for denying him not only the benefits of wizarding society as but his very education in his gifts can only be speculated upon; however, one thing can be certain, while it is not unheard of for unfortunate squibs to be protected from the tragedy of their condition by a home-based education, this had no bearing on Servas's state as inside sources have revealed that not only are both brothers fully magical, but powerfully so.

Held hostage to ensure his brother's silence, not only was Servas denied the right of every magical child - to be educated in their gifts - their barbaric, fear-ridden muggle father starved, emotionally and physically abused, and reviled this precious child as an "abomination"! Due to this muggle's betrayal of his simple parental duties, Servas is visibly shorter, suffering from malnutrition, and less magically developed - despite the efforts of his twin, Severus, who has been attempting to teach his brother about the wonders and skills of our world, whenever hazards of their tragic circumstances permitted. As a result of their father's attack, both twins were critically injured, only surviving due to the expertise of Healer Potter, and their muggle abuser paid for his crimes at the hands of his brave wife, Eileen Snape nee Prince, who nobly sacrificed her life, performing the viva maternalia incantation, one of the few legal variations of killing curse still permitted due to the fact that the spell requires the caster to exchange her life in the protection of her children under an immediate and life-threatening circumstance.

Reeling after her sacrifice, Servas and Severus Snape are expected to return to Hogwarts after their recovery until more permanent arrangements can be made. We, here at the Prophet, wish both young men a speedy recovery and a prosperous new life now that they have been freed from the cruelty of their oppressive muggle father.

* * *

"This is your friend, Severus?" Hollie questioned gently.

Nodding, Lily told her mother about finding the other boy the day before and how Severus had acted completely ignorant of the situation.

"He lied to me! How could he do that? I'm his friend, and he lied to me."

"Lily, Dear, I don't think that he may have had a choice."

"He had a choice, Of course, he had a choice. He could have told me. He could have told us, and we would have helped."

"Sweetheart, I'm afraid that it's not quite that clearcut, even here in the non-magical world reports of abuse aren't always handled as swiftly as we would like them to be, and from what I'm reading here, it sounds as if his brother's life was being held over your friend's head to keep him silent."

"But his brother was there! With us, he could have told me. We would have helped him."

"Could he have? I don't know Lily; from everything that you've told me, it sounds to me like there may have been magical ways that he was being kept from telling the full details as well. Is that possible?"

"Yes... no... I don't know, but Severus is so smart. He could have found a way. I'm sure he could have. He could have told me."

"Oh, Lily..."

"I would have done something. I would have!"

"Lily, Dear, I know, I know you did, and maybe he did, too. Maybe he was trying to keep you safe."

Lily paused considering Hollie's comment for a moment before nodding.

"He was. He stayed until he could be sure that I was back on the a good street and could make it home without being harassed, even though his brother was hurt and … he waited to protect me." Saying it, she broke into sobs curling against her mother's shoulder until spent and murmuring, "I would have done something."

"I know, Sweety, I know." Hollie murmured as she pressed a kiss into her daughters hair and re-read the article. There was something more, niggling in the back of her thoughts, something that her daughter said that was bothering her, but she didn't know what it was yet.

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Tbc... Lily and Petunia took up a bit more than I expected, but things should pick up again from here.


	12. Chapter 12

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): in the distant future chapters, it might get bit slashy.

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**Going****Through****, 12**

"Here now, King, I'm payin'." Alastor pushed his partner's hand away and fished out his own coin purse to drop seven sickles five on the counter as the clerk was still engaged in batting her eyes at the Kingsley.

Sighing in irritation, Kingsley turned away from the girl, who was quite pretty, but a little too- interested in someone she only saw once a week and never really spoke with - telling him that she was either interested because he was an auror... or worse, simply a not-too-terribly-ugly bloke... and she was either bored enough not to look for a wedding ring or morally deficient enough not to care that he was wearing one.

"It's Kingsley, Sir."

"Aye, I've heard ye called it." Alastor obligingly agreed, but- noticeably - did not offer to conform to either Kingsley's wishes or professional courtesy.

"Here. Here's a spot open." The older auror gestured to a seat that he'd said would be just within earshot of several key listeners, but as far as Kingsley could see when he glanced around quickly, their only nearby audience appeared to be other ministry workers, and a few department heads.

Alastor had asked him to play along, but - infuriatingly- the older man had refused to explain just what he was playing along with.

"You're in a good mood, today, Sir."

"What's not to be chuffed about, Eh King?"

"No reason, I suppose." Kingsley answer with unflappable, if slightly weary sounding, acceptance of Alastor's refusal to use his name. "Although you have got to admit that it's hard to reconcile your cheer with our most recent assignment."

"That's precisely it, boy. This last case was what it took to shake the old man up enough that he's finally getting involved, and bham. Didn't know what hit 'em, did they? Doubt they even know that they've been hit yet."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm afraid I don't understand." Much to his frustration, Kingsley's comment was the absolute truth, and not for the first time, he wondered why he had not applied for a transfer to another department, or at least requested a new training partner.

H ow was he supposed to play along if he didn't understand.

"Ye can't have been paying attention then, but don't guess I can expect you to when these lot haven't. Least you have the fact that you're a rookie on your side. "

"And, somehow, that explains a little less than nothing." Kingsley grumbled.

" _'__ark__an__' '__eed__, __you __rookies__, __which__ is __always __grumblin__' __sore_,' Come on now, King, I can't be doing all your thinking for you. Ye've seen near as much of the case as I have. Put your cap on and figure it out."

Another Kipling quote. He was beginning to hate them. They always seemed straight forward when Alastor muttered them, but then when he had the chance to actually look them up and read them it almost always turned out that comparing the context of the quote to the context his partner was using it in almost always showed Kingsley that he was being insulted. And worse... the quote was put out so mildly that he could never openly object without seeming like an arse.

Grinding his teeth, Kingsley nodded sharply and glanced down at the table napkin as he considered the question. Clearly, Alastor wanted him to think out loud or he would have simply explained it for their targeted listeners … which were who by the way? How was he supposed to figure out what his partner wanted him to say if he didn't know who he was supposed to say it for?

A straight recitation of facts, then?

"As far as I know, neither the Minister nor Undersecretary Markerson have done anything toward the case, and they're the only ones outside of Chief Mugwump Dumbledore, whom I have heard you call 'Old Man', but I don't see how his offering the twins arrangements until a suitable fosterer can be assigned is showing undue involvement. He is the headmaster of their school after all."

"Is that what he's doing, now?"

"Isn't it?"

"Have you not even read up on the case summary boy? What if this had been a criminal matter, boy, and there'd be a trial coming up? How'd you know that you'd need to be prepared? Always ALWAYS read the case summaries, King. If yer not following up, yer not doing yer job."

"I understand." Kingsley answered calmly, pushing down his irritation; his partner was probably right even though the nature of each individual case would have probably tell him when he'd need to prep for a trial. "But that still doesn't answer my question."

"It would've if ye'd read the casenotes."

"I will, but..."

"Fine, fine... The old man didn't just give them a billet until they get placed. He placed them, himself, or rather, he took em for his own and had 'em named his wards."

"That was … fast."

Incredibly fast. Reviewing what he remembered from his manuals on the procedures regarding families and estates, Kingsley shook his head in amazement at the Headmaster's ability to speed the procedures up so quickly. Regardless of the child's age, it took a minimum of five open hearings to arrange the placement of the orphaned children: the first to approve the children's case worker, the second for the case worker's recitation of facts to the the Council of Ancient and Noble houses, then a mandatory ten day wait (unless the Ancient and Noble Houses conceded their disinterest in children, which given that they were halfbloods was probable), and a recitation of facts to the Council of Lower Houses, then a mandatory thirty day wait during which all interested families might apply to adopt the orphans, a fourth hearing before both councils was held for the assignment of adoption and the fifth, six months later, as a follow up to determine the viability of the placement. As he considered the procedures, the impossibility of the Headmaster's arrangement became glaring, and from the sharp gleam in Alastor's eyes, Kingsley knew that his partner knew that he'd realized it, too. This was what Alastor wanted him to point out. Precisely this.

"That's... isn't that... too fast? Even if the Ancient and Noble council ceded their interest in the twins, it's only been two days. How can he have called both hearings so quickly?"

"What hearings?" Alastor asked with a smirk that only made itself known by a very, very slight tilt of the left side of the man's lips.

"The hearing to assign a caseworker and then the recitation to the Lower Houses? And what about the thirty day wait for applicant's. I can't believe they'd cede interest too."

"Did I say they'd been given a caseworker?" Alastor answered, his smile and voice becoming more noticeably smug.

"But they'd have to have..."

"Would they now?" His partner paused, slipping a spoonful of parkin in his mouth and pulling the spoonful out slowly as if he was truly savoring the cake, when Kingsley was all too aware that what the commisary did with its sweet recipes should be declared inhumane and illegal.

"Then how?"

"Imagine he just walked in an told the Minister that he wanted em, and zip-zap - it's done. Bout time, Fudge gave him the reins."

"Wait, but that... That's … that's completely circumventing the system."

"Avoiding quibbles you mean. There'll be times it needs to be done; you mark my words. The dark arse is more of a threat than most are willing to see, and Fudge's worse than most. If Dumbledore doesn't step in and take the leads, we'll all be wearin dark marks before Fudge get's of his duff."

"Sir, that's a pretty extreme thing to say, but even if you were right, I don't see what one matter has to do with the other. Taking in two orphans doesn't necessarily imply that he intends to take over."

"Doesn't it? You've had those fancy transfiguration classes they're starting at the academy now - transfiguring muggle materials, haven't ye?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, what do ye do when you want to know if you can transfigure one of their things, say like a pen, into something big, like a Hawthorne tree?"

"Well... you take a sample of one of their pens and try to transfigure something similar but smaller like a boxwood or hebe, as a test. A test. You're saying that a Warlock on the Wizengamot is flouting centuries old family and estate preservation laws - as a test?

The thought was appalling, even to Shacklebolt, who did not have a vested interest in protecting blood status or his family's social standing.

"Seem's to me that there aren't too many issues that get recited before both houses, if you catch my meaning."

"I'm not sure that I do."

"Well, think of it. What goes before both councils of the wizengamot that he'd have an interest in... rerouting, eh? There's not more n' eight or ten things that even get heard by both."

"Adoptions... estate transfers... major elections... unforgivable trials... " Suddenly, Shacklebolt saw 'it'."

His partner was practically gleeful as he prompted, "And..."

"Raising militias." Kingsley didn't need to Alastor's wink to tell him that he was right, nor that his message had been received given the sudden clatter of dropped cutlery from several directions.

"Are you saying that he... that one man... has the ability to raise an militia without the consent of the Wizengamot?" Kingsley asked, just to be certain that their message got across, now that he actually knew what the message was, and relaxed slightly at the laughter he saw in his partner's eyes. Alastor was always saying that most of the time people most people had to be told what to think, and even then 'they' tended to get it wrong.

"Now, don't know I can quite say that for certain."

_What__? _Kingsley almost dropped his own spoon at the non-sequitor. Wasn't that exactly what Alastor had been trying to say.

"What … I mean didn't... Isn't..." He fumbled for the right question, wincing at his partner's eye roll and mutter of "Merlin bless him with a clever wife."

After a moment, in a hushed voice that was loud enough to just barely be thought a stage whisper, Alastor explained, "Well, it's not over and done yet, is it? While those two boy's are still 'habilitatin' at Potter's surgery, some might take notice and think to start proceedings, but once he's got em at Hogwarts, well nothing leaves Hogwarts except as it's master wills it, does it? "

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From the corner of the dining room, Healer Potter watched Auror Moody's manipulations with amazement. True to his expectations, the visit with Minister Fudge had been absolutely useless, but Moody had not even blinked an eye as they left the minister's office.

"That wasn't even an attempt," Moody had assured him. "Just letting him think that I'm followin channels and doing the expected. He's not the one we're after anyway." Who the auror had been after, Healer Potter had no idea. They had not even stopped on the way to the dining room, except to pick up the auror's junior partner, and split up before they reached the cafeteria line.

At first, he'd had no idea what the man was up to, but as their discussion unfolded, he almost choked with shock. The auror's suggestion had been so plausible and had so underplayed the role of the twins in the question that it was probably unlikely anyone would realize or even double think the auror's motivation in the discussion. Moody, after all, was a known supporter of Albus Dumbledore and featured occasionally in some of the Prophet's more scathing articles about the current Minister of Magic, which no doubt explained why he never became a department head despite his notoriety as one of the DMLE's most successful aurors. No one would ever credit that he would move, even subtly against Dumbledore, much less undermine the beloved Headmaster as successfully as Moody just had.

As soon as the rainfall of cutlery quieted, Harrison studied the tables within several yards of the Auror and almost grinned as he saw the increasingly somber and determined expressions of their audience. Moody had 'casually' selected a spot right in the center of no less than seven pureblood undersecretaries and Bartimaeus Crouch, whom the Healer had had the dubious pleasure of meeting when his wife came in for treatment of her chronic haemochromaelgia. The man was utterly hidebound - demanding after the healer's diagnosis not only the chapter and verse of healing text that described his wife's condition but also the in depth research performed toward its treatment and a source list of all the materials that would be used. Months afterwards, Harrison was still apologizing to his apothecary for giving the Crouch his information as the justice had personally inspected the apothecary's store, business records, and storage facilities, and had given the apothecary a citation for having a license that was six days expired. If anyone could be said to utterly despise the circumvention of procedure, it was Bartimaeus Crouch.

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Severus startled awake to the sound of Servas's hand knocking over a glass, Severus sat bolt straight and glanced around sharply to see whether any one was present. Finally... they had been left alone. Sitting upright, he leaned forward, hoping to hurriedly whisper his questions before a nurse or healer returned, but Servas caught his hand in a tight - incredibly tight grip- and quickly mouthed 'no', then gestured with Severus's hand still caught in his grip toward the paper that a nurse had been reading.

"Se-r-us, please read for me."

"Very well." Getting up, with no small amount of pain, Severus retrieved the paper and started back to sit in his chair when Servas shook his head minutely and gestured toward the bed.

"Why don't we have another reading lesson, then?" He suggested, using it as an excuse to sit on the bed beside Servas. "I won't even fuss if you keep your finger on the paper to track the lines as you read. Just this one time, though."

"I know how to read." Servas pouted weakly, even though his eyes glowed with a spark of something that Severus was almost certain was approval.

"True, but there may be words that you're unfamiliar with."

"Okay, but if I mispronounce them, you can't laugh." Servas's tone was suddenly more child-like, and his gaze - not quite meeting Severus's- was so noticeably blank of the humor, which had been there moments ago, that it brought a pained tightness to his throat.

"Never." he promised.

"Kay." Servas's voice was still soft, but he carefully scooted over to make room for Severus, who thankfully settled into the bed beside him and suppressed a sigh as the bed's cushioning charms adjusted to take his weight off of his strained ribs.

"Safe At Last," Servas began in a soft barely stuttering note as his fingers slid back and forth between four words on the page: "silence", "Severus", "source", "here". Over and over, until Severus whispered, "Who?" under his breath, and Servas slid his fingers to two words in the headline even as 'his brother' continued to read, "By Rita Skeeter."

Severus shuddered as Servas continued to read the article that revealed his most desperately held secrets and tried not to imagine four gloating faces by focusing on the words Servas's fingers skimmed between.

"Skeeter... "

"gifts"

"and skills"

"never recorded in the annals of the ministry... public records."

"existence"

"not"

"revealed"

"Skeeter"

"can"

"be"

"here"

"and"

"not"

"visibly"

"here"

"Healer"

"care"

"no bearing."

Servas's fingertip seemed to flutter over the healer's name for several second, but Severus had no idea what to make of it nor how to ask without revealing that Servas was doing something other than reading. When Servas got to the bottom of the paragraph and watched him with expectant eyes, Severus nodded to say he'd received the message, and commented, "Very good, little brother, why don't you start again from the top, and read a bit more slowly this time. I'd like to hear how …. … … you pronounce some words."

This time, focusing half an ear on Servas's pronunciation to make comments for anyone listening, Severus divided the other half of his attention into watching Servas's finger quickly paused over letters with more surety, now that he had a sense of Severus grasping his message.

"Not" … "legal"... "an" … "I" … "mag" (Servas's finger cover the second half of the word, then the first two and last letters of 'abuse'.)

_Skeeter __was __an __illegal __animagus__, __that __no __one__ knew __about__, __hence__ Servas__'__s__ claim__ that __the __healer__'__s__ care __had __no __bearing__ on __the__ source__. _

"Blast!" he cursed, pulling the parchment from the other's hand and throwing it across the room, followed by their untouched lunch tray's, and a vial of something the nurse had been attempting to push on him earlier.

'Se-r-us..." Servas began hesitantly with an expression of apology and guilt.

"No... Damn it. I'm sorry. Sorry. I … that group of prats at school," he commented casually hoping to give a plausible reason for his outburst, "I just realized that they'll have read this, and we're probably in for a right tidal wave of bilge from them come September 1st."

Beside Servas winced, and Severus could have kicked himself for having made the suggestion. He was about to apologize again, though, when they both heard the healer's footsteps coming down the hall.

"Later," Servas whispered.

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"Servas, Severus, may I say it's good to see you both awake." Healer Potter commented with an encouraging smile as he surreptitiously banished the overturned tray and thrown paper before his guest could notice them. "Nurse Perkins said that you two have been having a reading lesson just before this?"

"Yes, Sir." Severus answered in a neutral tone as the healer noticed his eyes slip past to a dark haired woman in her late thirties with a strangely amphibian smile.

"Ah, yes, yes. Let me make introductions. Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce you to the case worker whom has been assigned to review your … placement, Deloris Jane Thistlewood.

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A/N: Thought it was time to get some old... er... friends involved. One of them might actually turn out to be an ally, but time will tell.


	13. Chapter 13

Going Through

Ratings: Generally Mature but PG-13 for the majority

Summary: A bit of a time-travel fic (aka another way for Harry to have gone back to the marauder's time).

Warnings (or advertisements as the case may be): in the distant future chapters, it might get bit slashy.

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For bkerrmom! My promotion has kept me really busy at work, but I have been eking a little bit along as I can, and I'm so glad that I can post this in response to your request. Thank you so much for continuing to follow my fics despite my distraction with work.

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A/N: In response to a couple of FAQs from recent reviews:

Yes, Servas will be going to Hogwarts, but not immediately. Severus will begin to think of Servas as his real brother; he's already starting to feel like their kindred souls - at least in the sense of shared suffering and isolation.

As far as Harry looking like James, I see that as being more in the sense of people looking at a child and looking for features from their known parent and so seeing them. Also, while he might have had similar features as a younger child, he is in ill-health at this point, and malnourishment, neglect, etc. are very likely not problems that would have made their mark on James. In a sense, you might look at it as similar to the movie canon.

Everyone says he looks like James, but when you see James in the OOTP movie, their features aren't very similar. Still, I can see how they might have similar cheek bones, or a similar forehead, etc.

In _Going Through, _no one is expecting to see similarities to James, so they won't look for them and consequently won't find them, or if they do won't think anything more of them than believing that the Princes must have a relation to the Potters somewhere in their past. When the others look at Harry, they'll see his dark hair, scars, thin frame, etc. and be expecting to find the similarities to with Severus, so they see them.

I'm hoping that Deloris is a bit of a surprise here, or at least her development. Her husband is faultless, in her later attitude and might come as a bit of a surprise, as will how she handles Servas and Severus's case.

Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews.

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**Going Through, 13**

"I want to see him! I need to see him, to make sure he's alright." Lily argued, glaring at her sister over their father's head.

"I'm sorry, Dear, you're sister's right. This isn't the best time to be visiting him. Let's give them a few days, and then we can write an 'owl' to your friend's doctor and see if they can have visitors."

"But I have to..."

"You have to what?"

"I have to talk to him, and …"

"And?" Her father's tone was as good as the frown he wasn't showing.

"I want to ask him something." Lily answered vaguely, suspecting she already knew what his reaction would be if she were more specific.

"Something?" He pressed, his eyebrows beginning to dip in a way that suggested he was about to say no.

"She wants to find out why he's lied to her for soooo long," Petunia supplied with a thin-lipped smirk. "No one ever lies to precious Lily, especially not her very best-est friend. Except that really isn't true, is it Lily? He really_ NEVER _told you? I wonder why ever not?"

Petunia smiled at her hatefully, and if Lily hadn't been restricted from using magic during the summers that ugly smile would have been plastered on her lips for weeks, or at least until her next date with that creepy oaf that always ogled Lily whenever he came to pick her sister up.

"Is that true, Lily?" Her father interrupted rising to stand between the two of them. "Is that the real reason that you're so insistent on visiting your friend so soon?"

"What? I... no... That's not the only reason I want to see him." Lily denied angrily, hurt that her father was, once again taking her sister's side. Their mother was so much more reasonable, but she'd had two patients at the clinic, and their father's patients had canceled.

"Lily, the truth! Is that why you have been so difficult this afternoon - because you wanted to interrogate your friend about why he lied to you?"

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"Servas, Severus, may I say it's good to see you both awake." Healer Potter commented with an encouraging smile as he surreptitiously banished the overturned tray and thrown paper before his guest could notice them. "Nurse Perkins said that you two have been having a reading lesson just before this?"

"Yes, Sir." Severus answered in a neutral tone as the healer noticed his eyes slip past to a dark haired woman in her late thirties with a strangely amphibian smile.

"Ah, yes, yes. Let me make introductions. Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce you to the case worker whom has been assigned to review your … placement, Deloris Jane Thistlewood.

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Deloris Jane?

Harry shivered as he gaped at the woman and pulled back slightly behind Snape, so that she wouldn't notice or recognize him. Wedged slightly behind Snape, he studied the woman over the other teen's shoulder and debated the matter silently and found the decision more difficult than he'd expected. Even if she was the same woman, which he wasn't entirely certain of... she was a twenty or so year younger version of the witch. On top of that, while Thistlewood had about the same shade of brown hair that Umbridge'd had and the same thin, broad, reptilian smile, those were about the only similarities that he saw.

But... even if she was - There was no reason to think that, twenty year's earlier, she would have had a reason to dislike (much less detest him) the way she had … _then_. Still, he decided as her eyes ran over him, making him shudder instinctively, in response, and he decided that it would be better to let Severus take the lead. While he hated cowering, he consoled himself with the thought that they had already established a habit of him letting Severus take the forefront and make the explanations.

"Review our placement? As I understood it, our placement was already arranged."

"Arranged? Oh, my no," she protested with overly-syrupy distress, "Arrangements had been discussed, certainly,but only that! I am sure your Headmaster simply … misunderstood the Minister's well-intended assurance that he would be _considered_ as a possible alternative, if we cannot place you through proper channels; however, it is far too soon to even consider such a possibility."

All the more certain that the witch was Umbridge, Harry couldn't decide whether he was relieved, or not, that they might not be going back to Hogwart's immediately.

"With your … backgrounds … it is certainly understandable why you may not realize this, but there is a very specific process developed over centuries to ensure the integrity and status of all placements, regardless of blood status or social standing. That is precisely why I am here,today, to explain what has already been done for you, what we at the ministry will be doing to ensure that you both will be situated in the most stable and appropriate circumstance possible."

Thistlewood waited expectantly, seeming to expect some response from them, but neither he nor Severus seemed to know what to say and stared at her silently. After a moment or two, she finally cleared her throat, louder and more gruffly, a 'harrgharrm'sound, more than the hem-hem sound that he'd expected, and he jumped slightly at the sound of it.

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Studying the younger... no, not younger, the smaller of the two, Delores felt a stirring of sympathy for the two boys; halfbloods though they were, it was clear that they had been ill used and were still skittish, and no doubt still suffering from shock. Worse yet, they were clearly confused by Headmaster Dumbledore's insidious manipulations.

It truly was beyond the pale for manipulative old wizard to use them as pawns in his political machinations. Well, thankfully, Delores wasn't the only one wise to the manipulative old wizard, and more than one the minister's advisers had convinced the minister to intercede for the two, before Dumbledore's schemes could come to fruition. The old wizard needed to be shown that he did not have the carte blanche he had been hoping for.

Putting her thoughts aside, Delores cleared her throat, paused when the smaller one flinched and jumped at the sound.

"We musn't lose our composure, dear," she chastised softly. "Really, there is no reason to be disturbed, I merely wish to explain what you - or any child... any wizarding child has a right to expect … in desirous times. Regardless of a child's age, it takes a minimum of five open hearings to arrange any placement but most especially the placement of the orphaned children. The first, which has already been held serves to appoint and approve a suitable case worker for the child - or in this case children. One must have suitable guidance in these matters and not simply muddle about willy nilly,flouting well established guidelines and procedures for sake of 'progressive attitudes'. I've been chosen as your case worker, and I fully intend to proceed within the well-established guidelines that have been set before us. Mind you, unlike some of my co-workers, I have nothing against individuals of mixed... shall we say... back grounds, but simply feeling sympathetic towards you plight is not enough to sway me from our properly appointed course. The next step of which is my appearance before the Council of Ancient and Noble houses to plead your case."

"Plea-" The older Snape child, no doubt having a poor understanding of wizarding manners, interrupted quite rudely, but given their circumstances it was only to be expected, so Delores patiently cleared her throat and continued.

"As I was saying, the second hearing is held in order for a case worker to present a detailed recitation of circumstances, on behalf of the children needing placement to the the Council of Ancient and Noble houses. Unless the Ancient and Noble Houses conceded to an expedited hearing appointment, there will be a mandatory ten day waiting period. During which time, if you are very lucky, an ancient and noble family may just concede to take you in.

As you are half-bloods, I would advise you not to raise your hopes too high at this prospect. Even if your family had been from a wealthier merchant class, it is unlikely that there are any Ancient and Noble houses willing... interested... It simply isn't very likely." She finally trailed off delicately, but as neither one interrupted her, she presumed that they understood her caution.

"Now after the ten day period has elapsed, we will be given a chance to issue a recitation of facts to the Council of Lower Houses. This is far more likely to garner prospective applicants. There are many families (merchants, tradesmen, and the like) who might be interested in adopting to young men to help support their families, giving you shelter and a good living in exchange for a family name. A mandatory thirty day wait during which all interested families might apply to adopt the orphans. When we receive their applications, my office will review their financial backgrounds and circumstances to narrow down the select candidates to the most appropriate. Once we have, you will be introduced to the final candidates and a fourth hearing before both councils will be held where their representatives may make a case for your placement. Both councils will consider their cases and ultimately decide the most appropriate assignment of your adoption. Once this hearing is over, you will be given into the care of your new family, and finally, six months later, we will have a follow up to determine the viability of your placement."

Having explained the process clearly and succinctly to the young men, Delores waited for them to express some measure of relief or approval for the clearly delineated plan, but they were silent.

Glancing over to the healer, the healer was shaking his head with a kindly smile.

"Yes, Thank you so much, Ms. Thistlewood. You have given both boys a great deal to think about. I'm certain that they appreciate it. Don't you boys?"

"Yes, Sir." The older Snape child agreed politely, as the smaller one nodded from behind.

Mollified, Deloris nodded to them both and left them in Healer Potter's care. She had already gathered copies of his files and would have ample time to prepare their case for First Recitation, scheduled three days hence.

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"Sorry, Boys," Healer Potter commented with a grimace as soon as his wards told him that Thistlewood had left. "I'm afraid that these ministry types travel in their own company so much, they seem to forget how normal folk communicate. She did give you a fairly concise run down of the Recitation process, but there's quite a lot she didn't say. Is there anything you'd like to ask?"

"Plead our case?" Severus blurted out, his tone an uncertain half snarl; Servas seemed somewhat piqued, too, but Healer Potter was relieved to see some signs of life from them, at last. He'd happily take a good healthy dose of disrespect over the suffocating silence that had characterized his recovery rooms of late.

"She makes it sound like we're criminals about to be brought up for trial."

"Yes, I suppose she did at that, but really, it's nothing of the sort. Try to keep in mind that the Ministry, while it claims to be tolerant of all magical peoples is the most tolerant to a favored few: Purebloods and those who espouse pureblood doctrine. It's not as bad as it once was, or could be, but it is still incredibly biased. In essence, if a child wished to attain pure blood ranks - as she seems to assume you wish to (but that's just her own bias speaking), she wouldn't be wrong in stating that you would have to plead your case and give the potential families who sit on the council some very tempting reasons - politically or financially tempting reasons - to consider adopting you. It still, most likely wouldn't occur unless the interested Ancient and Noble house had sufficient political clout to withstand a council veto, in which case the house probably wouldn't have been tempted in the first place. Still it has happened. You'll stand a far better chance of finding a guardian from one of the lower houses."

"To break our backs for them..." Severus sniped somewhat bitterly.

"No, that's her bias coloring the truth again. Yes, there are tradesmen and merchants in the lower houses, but there are also aurors, healers, professors, artists, explorers, the less wealthy or established purebloods, half-bloods, and muggleborns. Not to put too fine a point on it, while the council of Ancient and Noble houses represents about twenty five of the oldest and wealthiest houses, the council of lower houses represents everyone else. Don't worry, we didn't get this whole thing started just to hand you off to just anyone."

"You started this?" Servas choked out, his voice dry and harsh with non-use, as he said the first complete words that Potter had heard from the child in days.

"Yes." Potter agreed, smiling as Severus wandlessly summoned and filled a cup for his brother. "It was clear to me that both of you had a … reasonable reluctance to accept the Headmaster's decision to sweep you away to Hogwarts. I attempted to discuss the matter with him; however, after our discussion, it seemed to me there are other options that you might benefit from." Potter explained, carefully - not wishing to alienate the children further from their headmaster, but recognizing that dismissing the question would have undermined their trust.

"Tha-nk you." Servas' smile was shy and a bit awkward seeming on the child's barely healed face, but it was a wonderful sight to the healer, who had begun to assume that it wasn't an expression Servas had any experience with.

"You're welcome. Now, enough talk, why don't we see if I can round up another tray for you, and see if we can't get you to down another few bites. All of your major injuries have closed and or stabilized enough that it would be safe to get you out into the sunshine for a while today. That won't happen though, if I have to worry about you swooning on me."

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	14. Chapter 14

Servianus Velius Prince tapped his fingers impatiently on the edge of his knee as he waited for Miss Thistlewood's to return from her meeting with the boys.

He had thought that her intermnible recitation before the high council had been difficult to wait through: hearing the details of his grandchildren's miserable childhoods read out for the entire council to hear and gossip over was beyond the pale. He was not a criminal, nor had ever acted in a manner that brought shame on his house, yet here his crimes had been read out as if he were a commoner, with none too few knowing eyes watching, far too smugly.

By comparison, that meeting had been as a child waiting for trifles on yule. Waiting for the fluttery buerocrat to produce his grandchildren felt truly interminable - giving him a seeming eternity to debate what he was about to do.

He prayed, silently, that they were sufficiently well-mannered to hear his proposal in its entireity for his nerves were well-frayed, and his control of his temper always more tenuous when he was in such a state.

He would control himself, he chastised mentally, punctuating the thought with a firm tap of his cane onto the Healer Potter's carpeted office floor. It have been a more satisfying gesture if it had returned a satisfying crack of sound, but even out in the corridor the healer had deprived him of that small comfort with cushioning charms and sound suppressing charms on the alabastar tiles.

What in Merlin's name could be taking the woman so long?

Ignoring the healer's sympathetic gaze when he drew his eyes back from the door to the corridor, Servianus struck the tip of his cane into the carpet again, harrumphing in irritation with its continued lack of report.

'I do not fathom that it could take the woman any longer to produce the children if she were trussing them up as a goose to serve for yuletide feast." He complained brusquely, intent on prompting the healer to speed the woman along.

"Yes, it does seem to be taking some time, but please realize that while both boys are on the road to recovery, Servas has had a more difficult rehabilitation and is not able to move quickly, although he has been able to move about unassisted since yesterday afternoon." The healer commented missatributing and worsening Servianus's discomfort as he continued, inanely, "Severus has been quite patient with his brother's restricted pace, but both should be here soon."

As if on cue, the door to the to Healer Potter's office opened, and Thistlewood bustled through, almost pulling the clearly reluctant boys in beside her.

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"Wow." Servas murmured softly, drawing Severus's attention from his grandfather, "You'll look just like him."

The certainty in his voice caught Severus by surprise. Even after Healer Potter had stopped asking questions, his 'twin' had chosen to speak very little, even to him, and even then, only when they were alone. Perhaps it was out of natural caution, fear, or lingering trauma from whatever he had suffered before Severus and Lily had discovered him. The few times he had spoken, it was almost always stammering, hesitant, and rife with uncertainty.

This time, Servas seemed completely certain and utterly comfortable with the comment, staring at the elderly man with the most curious, and... trusting... expression that Severus had seen him display to date, which made no sense at all.

Servas had to this point seemed distrustful of everyone, outside of Severus, himself, including Healer Potter and the Headmaster, whom his seeming distrust of still worried Severus tremendously. Why on earth should he trust a wizard, whom he had no way of knowing, simply on the basis of a similarity of appearance that, frankly, Severus couldn't see.

"What?!" He questioned, astonished.

"You will." Servas asserted again, "You'll look just like him, except he has white hair, and I haven't seen you with white hair, but your face will look just like his."

As his words sunk in, Servas veritibly shrunk under his gaze, and not his alone; all three of the adults were staring at him with curious and thoughtful expressions.

"Are you saying you have 'sight' boy?" His grandfather questioned, and Severus suppressed a quiet sigh as Servas' hesitance returned and the smaller boy slid a bit behind him, looking up to him for an answer.

"It is not a question I can answer for you," Severus coaxed in a neutral tone, having discovered that it was easier to coax an answer from Servas if he seemed disinterested.

When Servas still hesitated, he continued, "nor one with an incorrect answer" to assure his twin that there were no repercussions that could perceivably discount their claimed status. While there was no way for Servas to know it, the Prince family shared a blood line with the well-known Trelawny seers, and Severus -himself- had felt, more than once, that he might have a trace of the talent, receiving small inclinations and intuitions before something bad occured and was certain that the gift had kept him from being on the wrong side of some of James Potter's nastier little traps.

"So-me-tim-es," Servas stammered, "I think... I - I mi-ght... know about some-thing that might hap-pen."

Servas hadn't flinched, noticeably, but Severus could still see that he was nervous about their reaction to his agreement. Was this why he'd been abused and abandoned? Had Servas made a prediction that disturbed his... well, Severus couldn't call who ever Servas had been with before caregivers, but guardians didn't fit either. Abusers was the only word that fit, outright, but it still made Severus wonder what had happened to Servas's family and how they could share the viva maternalia spell without the ministry having a record of it.

"Hmmmph, well it's in our blood, to be certain," the elder Prince agreed, "but like parsletongue, I'd never thought to see another generation with the gift."

"Parsletongue?!" Servas asked in quiet alarm, glancing back and forth between Severus and his grandfather.

"Yes, we're descended from Salazar Slytherin, beget by his youngest daughter with Galahault Leopoldos Prince. Although it is a much maligned gift, those of us who were born with it, have been given little cause to regret it."

"It isn't as dark as people try to make it seem," Severus began, hedging his statement as he glanced at the healer and the ministry case-worker. Healer Potter merely looked curious, while Mis Thistlewood's expression was a mix between slightly dissapproving, conflicted, and slightly scandalized.

"Indeed not," the older man agreed, offering Severus and Servas a stiff smile. "I assure you: I have never used parsletongue to conjure any thing more insideous than a tepid cup of bitters, and in fact have found little use for it outside of garnering venoms for apothecaries, but my business methods are not for discussion outside of this office." The elderly man warned with a peircing gaze that Severus could tell clearly imparted a message with Thistlewood.

"B-ut... I ... I didn't think there was any... anyone else who could ... except...Vo-" Servas trailed off, but Severus had heard enough and thought that he was beginning to understand. It wasn't any secret that the Wizard who was calling himself Lord Voldemort spoke parsletongue. It ws almost legend in the Slytherin house that he was a descendent of Salazar Slytherin, and could prove it, speaking parsletongue - which was supposed to have died out a couple of generations ago- and intended to bring back the 'old ways'.

More than a handful of his housemates and their parents were followers of the Wizard, and to be honest, Severus had considered going to one of the rallies. Not that he'd ever admit it to Lily, but Severus didn't know if it was really right for muggles and wizards to mix. Look what had happened to his mother and himself because they had consorted with muggles. Lily's parent's might be nice, but by and large, in his experience of living in the muggle world they seemed to be a rare breed.

The healer had confirmed that Servas was a half-blood like himself, but for his 'twin' to know of Voldemort, suggested that he had been born into a predominately pureblood family, probably as one of a younger son's by blows, that the family - no doubt followers of Voldemort - had decided to keep hidden to avoid scandal. His mother must have been a muggle born witch like Lily, or the maternalia scar wouldn't have been there - magical just not a pureblood... or at least enough of a pureblood to satisfy their biases. It was the one thing that had kept him from ever attending despite the pressures on him to do so: the knowledge that many of them would have viewed a witch like Lily as a taint on their bloodlines, or hidden away a half-blood like himself out of shame.

"Yes, I have heard that there are others, descended from Salizar Slytherin by another branch, who have been more open about their gifts and their association, but I have found that it is wiser to be circumspect in revealing one's full abilities. It is an easy trap to judge another by the wrong standards, as I have well learned... but now, let us set aside this chatter and discuss why I have come, today."

"Ms. Thistlewood said you want us?" Servas asked disbelievingly, and Severus couldn't help but stare at him again. From his earlier reaction, and the almost immediate trust he'd seemed to give the man, Severus would have assumed that Servas would have jumped at the offer without questioning it, but when Severus caught his eyes, Servas's gaze was was filled with doubt.

"I will not lie to you, boys. I am not a jovial, trusting, nor particularly forgiving man. Throughout my life, I have been burdened with a quick temper and a more than inordinant share of pride, in myself, my family, and my heritage. Also, quite honestly, I do not approve of mixed marriages between muggles and wizards. These three factors conspired, prompting me to commit the worst and only decision of my life that I truly regret making: to renounce your mother, sending her directly into the arms of that... ... man. By the time my temper cooled and I came to grips with my rueful pride... the matter was irrevocable. Your mother was bound ... magically bound... by muggle marriage vows, sealed by their consummation, and irrevocable. She could not turn from ... that man... nor do anything other than "love, honor, and obey, foresaking all others... so long as they both should live..." his grandfather quoted bitterly, as a sob rose in Severus's throat.

He had never understood... never... and it had hurt so deeply believing that his mother had loved his father so much more than himself. He had never understood that it had not been her choice, that she had been magically bound for as long as she lived, but had chosen him over her own life to break her vows and foresake the husband that she must have still loved, even if it was on the force of magic...

His eyes blurred, and he could feel Servas's smaller hand closing around his arm and pulling him backward slightly, until the back of his knees hit a chair seat, and he allowed himself to be guided into it. Servas turned between him and the others, blocking their stares with his body, but said nothing. Severus could feel Servas's hands on his shoulders, a firm grounding grip, patient and non-judging as Severus struggled to regain his composure. When he had finally felt he had the grips of it, Severus nodded, and Servas stepped out of the way.

"I never understood that." Severus commented, somewhat awkwardly, into the silence, by way of explanation.

There seemed nothing more that they could say for several minutes... but finally Servas broke the silence.

Staring at the older man, Servas solemnly declared, "If you want us... truly want us, for us, not just because you feel forced to out of pride and reputation... then... I guess we... we want you, too. Don't we, Sev'rus?"

Severus - truth be told - didn't know what he wanted. When he'd gotten on the Hogwart's Express to return home for the holidays, he'd wished he could be on his own, out of the house and away from his parent's disfunctional marriage; he'd wanted an ally, whom he could talk to, in a way he'd never been able to with Lily; and for as long as he'd been in the Slytherin house, he'd wanted an inroad to the respect and privelege afforded to Ancient and Noble houses, like the Prince's - and now, all his wishes had come true ... in a bloody awful way, with his life had been turned upside down and everything that he'd always wanted to keep secret had been exposed.

One thing hadn't changed, though: being alone, in the wizarding world, meant unprotected, and unprotected was a very bad thing to be - especially if you were a halfblood or a muggleborn.

"Yes."

Really, it was the only answer he could give.

ブレンキン

Servianus Velius Prince, despite that one awful decision, had never been a fool, nor prone to deluding himself regarding other's feelings toward himself, and it was obvious to him that he had not won their trust, with his admission, as humiliating as it had been to make the admission in front of the healer and the witch.

Still, whether if they were agreeing to his offer out of desperation or worse resignation, their agreement was all that he required.

He would neither pamper, nor coddle him, but despite Servas's naive demand for acceptance merely on the basis of their existance, Servianus could not flout the demands of his pride and would ensure that they were well accounted for - as should be any Prince heir.

For there was one thing he knew without question: a house without a line of succession was a target for all. For the Ancient and Noble house of Prince to survive, heirs were required - even if they were half-bloods.


End file.
